[i]49: did the poochie make it ok
80: Yeah.
49: goooood that's quality stock
49: and i did her pack a favor
80: I bet.
49: trust me dude it was for the best
80: And before you ask, I'll send you your cut tomorrow.
49: and hey what about my cut
49: lol beat me to it
49: crafty bloke
80: Yeah. Gonna go back to drinking now.
49: alright
49: enjoy your tea time dude
80: Bye.
49: bye[/i]

Eighty exited the chatroom, going back to viewing Reddit, taking another sip of his lager. The export from Forty-Nine, the best meat trafficker Eighty knew, had been a long deal. She'd killed several of her own pack plus some civilians and a cop back in the US. Forty-Nine had worked his magic and sent her over to London to be put to better use as a near-rabid killing machine. The pack thought she was being medicated - they'd have already gotten "there was a complication" talk by now.

Eighty turned his head towards the other people at the counter. Folks who looked like humans, but sure as hell weren't. Someone as mundane as him couldn't see past latent and constructed magic veils, but this place? It was a substitute over his natural intuition. He assumed he was the only normal human in here.

He finished up his lager and left the glass on the countertop. He stepped away and repositioned himself at a booth closer to the entrance. He kept an eye on the folks seated at the bar.

Something told him they were going to start something.