The Howling buzzed with energy, with the beats of PanTroyVika saturating the air. Morky and Chadwick stood at the bar, swaying slightly, the drinks in their hands slowly blurring their senses and their inhibitions.
Up on the rooftop, Crowlee, with keen, observant eyes, decided it was time to intervene. He had watched Morky and Chadwick long enough to notice the tipsy bravado brewing in Morky, alongside Chadwick’s anxious fidgeting. It was a recipe for chaos, and Crowlee knew better than to let trouble brew without a sprinkle of magic.
With a rapid flap of his wings, he soared into the night sky, and as he descended, he shapeshifted into a tall, charismatic man. He landed on the ground with a purposeful thud, his boots thumping against the wooden floor of the bar, sending ripples through the crowd. A few people stumbled back, their drinks sloshing dangerously close to the edges of their glasses, while others shot him annoyed glares.
Ignoring the offended glances and disdainful hisses, Crowlee strode toward the bar, a force of nature amidst the chaos. The air thickened with tension, and for a fleeting moment, the music seemed to quiet as the crowd took stock of the intruder. Vampires and other creatures of the night snarled but dared not challenge this mysterious newcomer who commanded attention with every step.
As Crowlee approached, a She-Wolf with fiery eyes crashed into his path. Her grip was vice-like as she spun him around, her growl a low rumble that rippled through the air, eliciting a ripple of fear even from the most seasoned patrons. The bar had grown still; curiosity buzzed like static electricity.
“Hey Mister, U betta watch da way you walk or one day you won’t be able to at all!” She warned, her gaze locking onto Crowlee’s with a fierceness that could have melted steel.
“Or what?” Crowlee replied, unfazed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a hint of mischief in his dark eyes as he leaned slightly closer, inviting the challenge.
But before the She-Wolf could respond, the crowd began to murmur again, and Crowlee seized the moment to glide past her with a wave of his hand, effortless as a breeze, making his way to the bar. There, he casually leaned against the polished wood, allowing himself a moment to take in Morky and Chadwick—their raucousness, their camaraderie—and the stirring potential of the night.
“Drinks on me!” he declared, voice rich and smooth, burning through the din of the bar. He turned to face the pair, the confidence pouring from him like the finest liquor.
Morky, with his messy hair and wild laughter, scoffed, his head shaking rapidly. “I got my own moe-nay, thank you!” he declared, his volume rising above the ambient sound. “I don’t need your patronizing charity, mister BIG SHOT that bullied your way up here through the crowd! Come on and try me, mister! I’ve dropped Sumo’s that were twice the size of me!”
Chadwick immediately tugged on Morky’s shirt, his eyes wide with anxiety, his voice barely above a whisper, “Uhm, Morky, you’ve had too much to drink and your temper is getting out of hand, cool down buddy, he’s just trying to be nice to us.”
Crowlee maintained his composure, his grin widening with each passing second. “Please, Morky, let me introduce myself. My name is Bondi, Kawki Bondi.” He extended his arm, an invitation wrapped in mystery.
Morky froze, eyes wide in disbelief. “Hey, wait a minute, how did you know my name??” he gasped, suddenly sobering under the weight of the stranger’s knowledge.
The crowd’s chatter rose again, intrigued by the sudden pivot in their exchange, and the music swelled around them, underscoring the gathering tension. Crowlee’s gaze gleamed with a secret, something not entirely human hidden beneath his casual demeanor.
“Let’s just say I know a few things,” Kawki Bondi replied cryptically, his expression playful yet serious. “And tonight, you’re going to want to listen.”
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