[b][u]1:25 PM, O'Mallory's Irish Pub, Gotham City - November 3rd, 2019[/u][/b]

Clayton hated Fae for a number of reasons. He hated their trickery, their courts and their intrigue, their arrogance toward anyone that wasn't one of their seemingly endless range of subspecies, and a hundred other things. He was hardly alone in that opinion, considering the sheer number of wars against the other supernaturals at any given times, including the in-fighting with the half-dozen courts the queens lorded over.

Right now, however, his contempt was firmly fixed on the loud, sing-song cheering of the Leprechauns and Red Caps as they spilled foaming mugs to the fight. Oh, how they loved a good boxing match, specifically the money that got tossed around when drunken Fae got swept up in the spirit of competition. He enjoyed a good boxing match, too, though his events were far quieter. His half-empty mug was forgotten when Hayes made it through the first round better than anyone had expected, much to the chagrin of the Red Caps and the Troll at the table across from him,, which only brought a smile to the big man's face.

"Put me down for another twenty on Hayes." He said almost absently, draining the rest of his mug before he looked down at the tiny silver coin he'd come down to this dingy watering hole for. He could feel the magic clinging to it's battered, scarred surface, the feminine face stamped onto it barely recognizable. He shook his head before he stuffed it into his pocket, signalling for another drink. It might have been nothing, just a trinket some little cretin had turned up among other black market artifacts, and in all likelihood that would be all.

If not? Well...it was the first sign of something wicked coming Gotham's way again.