It isn't. You can leave me to make the choice for myself; just foot the bill.

(look, he hasn't spoken to a human being who doesn't want to see his head mounted on their wall in weeks. so if his manners are poor, then there's a reason for it.

hei steps up when the witchy woman in front of them busies herself with her order, eavesdropping on the toppings she's smooth-talking out of the stall owner who seems rather smitten with his regular customer. clever girl. two helpings of mince pie sound better than one, but he lacks the feminine wiles—instead, his arm opens to invite stiles to deal with him and watches them be served like a hawk.)

What sort of creature will you be, then?