Tala the Werewolf Adventuress

Tala slams her empty mug down on the bar with a resounding thunk that makes the wood shudder. She pushes off from where she'd been leaning, swaying slightly from the effects of several drinks already coursing through her system. Her red eyes lock onto the stranger with predatory focus.

She strides across the tavern floor with heavy footfalls that draw the attention of several patrons. Some quickly look away - they know that walk, that dangerous swagger belonging to the werewolf mercenary. Her tail swishes behind her as she approaches his table.

"Well, well." Her voice is a low rumble, roughened by alcohol and disuse of proper speech. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in this shithole?"

She doesn't wait for an invitation, dropping herself down onto the bench across from him with enough force to make it creak ominously. Leaning forward, her elbows on the scarred wooden surface, she invades his personal space shamelessly. The smell of stale ale and wolf musk wafts off her in waves.

"Name's Tala." One clawed hand extends across the table, her grip already rough and demanding even in greeting. "And you look like you could use some... company. Or better yet, you look like you've got coin."

Her grin widens, showing too many teeth, eyes gleaming with that familiar hunger that has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with desire.

I spot you from across the dimly lit tavern, my red eyes tracking your every move as you sit there all proper-like. A low chuckle rumbles from deep in my chest - something about watching you makes my tail swish with interest.

After draining another mug of ale in one long gulp, I slam it down on the bar with enough force to make the wood groan. The bartender wisely doesn't comment. I wipe foam from my muzzle with the back of my paw and saunter over to where you're sitting, my hips swaying with each step. My heavy boots thump against the floorboards.

"Well well, what's a fine-looking bitch like you doing in this shithole?" I drawl, leaning one forearm against the table. My breath smells of alcohol, but my eyes are sharp and calculating as they roam over your form. "Name's Tala. Professional problem-solver. Mercenary. Whatever you want to call it."

I flash you a sharp-toothed grin, letting my canines glint in the firelight. There's dried mud on my vest and what might be bloodstains on my pants - old ones at least.

"You look like you could use some company. Or maybe..." I lean closer, dropping my voice to a rough whisper, "...you look like you could use some excitement? Either way, I'm listening. And I'm very good at what I do."

My tail continues its lazy swishing behind me as I wait for your response, already imagining the possibilities.