Sounds like a dream come true to me. Good booze, good company, a grand old time. [Saxsice mournfully sips her drink, nose wrinkling a little as it continues to taste like paint thinner, not at all like the lovely make-believe dream Chloe's created. She'll have to find some oranges or something.

Then she leans back, arms spread out against the bar, the picture of casual indifference.] Yeah, you're lookin' at one. I don't think we're all that common. [Even less common is a werewolf who'll just out themselves like that, but maybe it's just the liquor talking.] At least, I haven't met any others here.