Although the Renaissance Faire was not his scene, it was also not not his scene. Mathus was best described as Renaissance Faire "Neutral"--he didn't dress up, but he also didn't disdain the day's activities. He'd come with a group, friends and families from his local parish, but had excused himself to take a tour around all the attractions alone. Amidst the costumed crowds, he found his mind wandering, playing down fanciful paths and wondering if this is what it would be like to walk a street in a fantasy world. What would his class be? He didn't know enough to say, but surely a werewolf made a formidable ally to any party.
But that was neither here nor there, not when there was food to be had. Naturally, the werewolf had fallen on the turkey legs like a, well, hungry wolf, and was already finishing up his second as he approached the stage. He tossed the bone in a nearby trashcan, and watched the show as he wiped his hands.
There was an actual jester was dancing about on the stage, showing off some fairly impressive feats of dexterity. Still, as distracting as it was, the sound of the woman next to him choking on her mouthful didn't escape him. The man looked over with clear concern, even going so far as to reach out a hand, hovering it behind her in case she needed a good slap on the back. She recovered before it came to that, though, and he smiled broadly, amused by the touch of morbid humor.
“You are in luck, I'm a doctor,” he said, his Romanian accent thick in his words. “But I would need to find your insurance card first.”
But that was neither here nor there, not when there was food to be had. Naturally, the werewolf had fallen on the turkey legs like a, well, hungry wolf, and was already finishing up his second as he approached the stage. He tossed the bone in a nearby trashcan, and watched the show as he wiped his hands.
There was an actual jester was dancing about on the stage, showing off some fairly impressive feats of dexterity. Still, as distracting as it was, the sound of the woman next to him choking on her mouthful didn't escape him. The man looked over with clear concern, even going so far as to reach out a hand, hovering it behind her in case she needed a good slap on the back. She recovered before it came to that, though, and he smiled broadly, amused by the touch of morbid humor.
“You are in luck, I'm a doctor,” he said, his Romanian accent thick in his words. “But I would need to find your insurance card first.”