It was a cold night, the darkened blue canopy hanging overhead. The chilly air nipping at all exposed skin as humans pass by, their breath in wispy trediles. A cheap imitation of the beasts of legend that could be not a step behind them. Faces buried in layers of fabric, hurried paces trying to get to a detestation, the streets echoing with the sound of midnight traffic and hushed phone calls, bouncing and echoing through the towering sky scrapers that reached for the night sky like desperate hands. 

With so much activity in the lit night. It was easy to miss a building of red brick and faded paint. It's good years behind the tagged walls. Standing far shorter than the business at it's sides. While the short wired, illuminated sign blinked on and off reading, "Beasts Den" did not seem too welcoming. The place still seemed to get quite the activity, it's door opening and closing, yet hardly a body could ever be seen escaping the confiding space. 
Inside was warm though, far more so than one would think. The smell of spice hung in the air. Characters of all kinds and all forms sitting at the tables and bars. A game setting of dart boards and pool tables in the corner, surrounded by a gang of feeble men and women alike. The walls hanging with works of art and newspaper clippings, with the soft music of jazz would make it seem like any other club. Any other bar even, the bartender pouring drinks, the lady mentioning men and boys alike to follow. It all seemed to fit right in with the harsh space of New York. 

"All a mirage" a handsome man sitting on a stool, back to the bar in a relaxed state, couldn't help but give a smirk at the humans who unknowingly sat next to a dullahan. The sorceress that was in charge of the place was good, he had to give them that. Here he could take a drink with his tail, the barb flicking this way and that, yet no human or beast seemed to bat an eye. Humans seeming to be in a daze, lost even as they asked for a drink or bite of food only to leave unsatisfied. 

Raven hair tied back in a pony tail, silver eyes scanning the place around him, Damion found himself with another board night. One that ended well at work, his pockets linned with tips, but still a boring one all the same. A glass of start burst vodka in hand, yet a clear mind, he shrugged his shoulders. Listening to a conversation about how the hunters were getting more gutsy, going after older creatures of lore, caused him to make a mental note. 
"Don't go home alone Damion, girl like you could be hurt by the big bad hunters."

Eyes narrowed, he pierced the barb end of his tail deep within the polished wood of the bar. Right in between a set of fingers belonging to a drow. A grin plastered to his dace, the male began to swish is drink in hand, watching the colours bleeding in like a oil spill. "Don't go warning me with a good time. Come on, no one would ever want to deal with the likes of me. After all, I'm just a guy trying to get by."