James
Herein, there is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto— a saying that lost all its truth, if your 'road' was little more than some knee-deep mudded footpath, laden with dirty rags of gray snow and the ruts of many men, maybe horses, tracking ice and stiff hay to and from the barn that Fidelis now loitered outside of. Since the storm had ceased, he'd seen people trekking out here; never in large groups, never all at once, but enough that when he'd followed their steps through the fresh snow, the sight of the dilapidated, rotten old building had confused him. 

Only one type of business went on in places like these. People, fiddling around where they weren't supposed to, kicking up evil and conducting bad business— the man Fidelis' dream, should his theory be confirmed. More cunning than any hunter's fox-hound, he'd tried to *Case* The joint first, stalking around the snow drifts, waiting quiet in the cold shadows at the edge of the field— but all that'd got him was a chill, doilies of frost melting wet on his woolen coat's shoulders.

He wanted to go in. That was the reigning desire.
** **

But he couldn't just... *Go* In, you know. Impulsivity had gotten him this far in life, but it, more than anything, was a luxury. The snake that struck without seeing caught nothing but a boot, and detesting the feel of rubber in his teeth (or rather, a bullet to the face) there was nothing to do but wait for someone *'in-the-know'* To come along, to absolve him of the curse of being a new face in an old locale. 

It was hardly an elegant plan, just waiting to rely on someone, but Fidelis was patient. Reserved. Crouching at the side of the road, his heels taking all his weight, the man wrestled a small, metal tin with numb fingers from his coat's thready pocket, eyes casting down the range again before he wedged his teeth into the lid. It was nothing, to pinch a small bit of snuff between thumb and forefinger, to let it slide in cup of his hand's webbing, head reeling back as he took a short, sharp *Sniff* Before bowing forward with a sneeze. It was nothing, to swipe his nose with the back of a shaking hand. To glare back towards the road. To wish absently for a cigarette, praying for someone to come along.
Leah
I had been a... Rough night, and Noah needed to get somewhere where he could surround himself with life and laughter. Too many memories lurking in the shadows these days, too many ghosts. At least the blizzard had ended and he could walk along to familiar paths to a place where he could count on a friend or two to be visitin'. His steps slowed as he approached the barn only to be met with the sound of a sneeze and a glance found the unfamiliar shape of a man. 

Distrust was his first instinct; lots of new faces the last few years, lots of death too. He pushed the feeling down though and loosened his shoulders. His momma always said that everyone deserved a bit of kindness and that mindset had always rewarded him in the past. There was no sense in letting the world make him cold when it had tried so hard, for so many years, and failed.

"Evenin' friend," He called out and offered a half wave in greeting, stopping a distance away from the man crouched in the dirt. "You lose something over there?"

Noah being friendly didn't mean he had to be stupid and he had never really been able to shake the hyper awareness left over from his years in the war. He didn't approach no further, waiting to see what the man said.
Pedro
At one point in time, tea was the best way to give Akira the tranquility she'd need, back in the safety of her home. But ever since the werewolves attacks began, she became a familiar face at good ol' Davis. She'd be by the barn early enough, often encountering some familiar and new faces alike. 

Her eyes glanced over one man closer to the entrance as she passed by, but for all she knew, Fidelis was 'lost'. She didn't even make an effort to make eye contact with him, as she only had one idea in mind.

 The woman soon disappeared into the shadows, unknowing if she were to be followed by the strangers. Inside the 'barn', she took a seat on her now usual spot, deep in her solitude. Those who knew her may have noticed how she had only become quieter and more isolated. As if the attack she had experienced back in fall left more than simple physical scars across her face. After all, who wouldn't want to forget that ugly beast, tearing into one's flesh?

With a small gesture of one of her hands, Akira got the attention of one of the waitresses, and simply asked for the 'usual'. As the moonshine flowed, she'd start to feel the effects she desired. For the last time before the full moon, Akira would feel relaxed.