#lupocanius

[werebull]

“ Wait .. so you’re a .. were...”

Caspian was confused yet intrigued.

"Werebull," Shaw did not even turn his head to the side to look at the younger man as he took his wine glass from his lips. Hmmm...on the palate, black currants and sour cherry with cedarwood. Hint of dried fig. "Less common than predatory sorts, but believe me, that's a good thing---for you." He did turn his gaze now, "Prey animals are far more dangerous. Especially the large ones. The instinct of the herbivore is to fight for his life ---the carnivore only for his supper. There's a reason it's Cape Buffalos that are called "Black Death" and "Widowmaker"." There was no threat in his words, no warning, no implication. Just fact. He turned his head again. "But what's more important is that I'm a businessman. I founded Bos Industries and continue to run it. Built it into a multi-billion dollar empire. What have you done, young man?" @luposcanius

[werebull]

@luposcanius - continued from HERE! “I’ll most certainly call you Caspian.” Bram didn’t hold with royalty unless he absolutely had to. The very concept of hereditary monarchy disgusted him----all that power, and others having to obey you, simply because you were born to it? Bram was a self-made man, as he’d just said, and anyone being handed anything in life made him rankle. “I don’t suppose you have a last name? And as to your other question, no, I’m not bound to the lunar cycle. My other form is as natural a body is as this one, not a cyclical curse. Which means, should I catch you at any time enacting mischief in my domain. . .the horns are an option. Though I’d hate for it to come to that; transforming does alas ruin my suits, and you’ve no idea what I pay for them.” That was the point of this meeting. Supernaturals, at least in Bram’s world, operated within a loose system of. . .not laws, exactly, but courtesies. Understandings. Gentlemen’s agreements. Territory was a big issue for many, not simply because lots of them had animal instincts, but for practical reasons as well. Vampires needed places to hunt, shifters needed places to roam, witches needed areas for ceremonies, and so on. And everyone had to be careful not to draw attention to a spot. Especially if it was someone else’s spot. Because if, say, a sloppy vampire leaves a blood-drained body in a witch’s neighborhood, and investigators start snooping around there, the witch is the one at risk, that sort of thing. So people of the preternatural persuasion tended to get a little defensive about letting anyone else of the same sort operate in a domain they’d claimed for themselves. But Bram was a reasonable man; seek permission in a courteous manner in his office like this, make some kind of small payment to him for the privilege, and it was all good. He just needed to know who you were and what you were doing. The werebull leaned back in his leather chair--yes, leather, Bram had no sympathy for real cows---and steepled his fingers, “So tell me, Prince Caspian---what are you the Prince of?” Whatever Bram thought of royalty, there was quite a lot of it in the supernatural world. . .worlds, really, plural. This and that fairy courts, emperors of such and so species, princesses of this clan of whatever, and so on. Couldn’t really keep track of them all, and it did matter if the younger man was actually ruling some rich and powerful otherworldly country or if he was just the son of some small werewolf pack’s leader.