Seneca's hackles bristled at the human smirking at the bar. The old
charr wasn't all that thrilled to share one of her favorite haunts
with a race she considered to be an untrustworthy lot full of
avarice. She ignored him as best she could, staying on the far side
of the bar and not even looking in his direction. That is, until he
tried to draw her into conversation.
“I'm not in the mood,
mouse.” Seneca said with a frostiness that was usually not present
in her easy-going manner. “You drink your ale and leave me to
mine.”
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