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    Summary

    Swinging his legs off the table, Wolfwood stood up and went through the velvet rope and toward the bar. People saw the cross hanging off his collar and steered clear, trying not to even touch him as he snaked his way through the crowd. No one wanted Chapel breathing down their neck over copping a feel off one of his subs.

    “Hey, we need another round,” Wolfwood called when he got to the bar. When she nodded to him, that was good enough to be sure he was going to get a tray to precariously walk back over. So he parked himself at the bar and stared at the lines of top shelf booze on display. Sometimes he felt like one of those pretty bottles. No one got to drink out of him but the assholes with thick wallets.

    The bartender was setting a beer with a foamy top down in front of a particularly dumb looking guy. He had spikey, blond hair and looked a bit like a cactus. Wolfwood watched him immediately get foam on his nose and bat it off as if it were a bug on his face.

    Scoffing, he looked away.

    Somehow, because God hates him, the human porcupine heard that. “Hey… Don’t be rude.”

    Series
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