Todd
As the fire Macen approached the counter, a jovial drunk stumbled past her and slammed down his half-empty mug, the remnants of his drink sloshing all over Revett's lovingly detailed sketches. The canifor snatched his papers up a moment too late, a soggy mess hanging from his claws. He snarled in the drunk's face, the fangs snapping inches away from his nose making the man bid a hasty retreat, making an empty space at the counter as fast as he could move.
Billy
*The horned lady stopped in her steps, just to make sure her personal trajectory doesn't meet with the drunkard's, watching things unfold before her, stepping to the side to be kind enough as to make way for the retreating drunk. She squinted at the drunk before turning back towards the counter, nonchalantly sitting down next to the clawed one. Seraph assumed they're some kind of an artist, after all, you don't need to wear the finest clothing to make the finest strokes.
She ordered a glass of absinthe from the bartender, presenting her overly Elven accent, for a Macen that is. Then, she gazed to the side at the one who had their drawings ruined, she had to keep herself entertained somehow as she waited for the drink anyway.*
"Nice place, huh?" *She idly commented, referring to what just occurred.*
Todd
A pointed glare from the canifor and the man behind the counter cleared up the soggy mess with a rag that had definitely seen better days. He grimaced in distaste and quickly put his materials away, ears flat against the back of his head in displeasure. All he'd wanted was one calm evening, he thought grimly as he finished his lukewarm tea and pushed the cup towards the bartender. 
Glancing back at the fire Macen, with the barest raise of an eyebrow at her dramatic appearance (though he had heard that the fire was generally a personality trait as well as a magic affinity), he looked around the bar where things were ramping up for the evening as more and more people drifted in after finishing work for the day. 
"I... Like people. Being in crowds." He said by way of reply, looking down at the sticky counter with a resigned sigh, then giving Seraph a wry smile. "Sometimes this is what you get for your efforts." He brushed his hands together to remove any remaining stickiness, then offered her one, painted claws glistening in the light. "Revett Tal Quervain. And yourself?"
Billy
*The lady patiently waited for the drink, seeing that the bartender had some clean-up to do. It will probably get even worse for him towards the night, once the tavern enters its last stage of matching up drunk furniture-armed brawlers. She hoped it will be at least entertaining, rather than depressing, as some drunken evenings can get. So far, so good.*
*Seraph tilted her head a bit at the man's sudden exposition, but at the latter part, she had to nod. It was relatable enough.*
"Mhm... Society has its way of giving you a hug with one hand and a slap with the other. It somehow keeps us running, though." *She agreed and added in, internally wanting herself to stop saying such philosophical stuff, but couldn't resist. She's not even drunk yet, this isn't yet time for 'we live in a society' talk.*
*Seeing the man offering her a hand, she smiled back, reaching up her right arm to try and quickly slip off her long glove, having been raised with a few social superstitions to boot. One, was to not shake someone's hand in a glove, as it's a sign of disrespect. Like wearing a hat indoors.*
*With her hand freed from the material, she could give him a proper hand shake. There was very little strength to it, so she could only hope the beasty man won't tear her hand out of its joints.* "Sarafinaire Ithilien-Greystorm. Pleasure to meet you." *She had some issue switching back from the elven accent when she said the Greystorm part of her overly long name, as the rest of it was clearly Elven. Mixed heritage is a pain.*
Todd
Revett listened to the comment with the slightest twitch of an ear - 'society' was, in a broader sense, 'pack', and 'pack' had a whole loaded meaning which he wasn't sure he could discuss without a smoking pipe packed with runesmoke. 
"We can't help but be bound to it," Was all he said on that topic, reluctantly, before watching the lady remove her glove with renewed interest. Now, societal differences was something he could discuss freely - there were more cultures and peoples than he could count traipsing through the tavern, and it never ceased to fascinate him. His handshake was a warm grasp and release, making sure to meet Seraph's eye as he did. 
"Serafinaire Ithilien... Greystorm?" He asked, his raspy voice catching slightly on the finer notes. Between the mismatched names and the accent, it was enough to raise his interest, and he hoped the fire Macen would settle in for a longer conversation. "An elven name. Interesting folk, the elves.."
Billy
*With her hand coming out of the shake unscathed, she was relieved, and now proceeded to meticulously pull the glove back on. Her grip was delicate, as expected, but without the glove, it felt very warm, as if she was going through a fever. A few drips of sweat here and there suggest her body is on fire, in some small way, all the time. It would explain her style of clothing, or at least, make for a perfect excuse for it.*
"You've noticed, heh. Yes, I was raised the Elven way. All I have from my Macen culture is the alt second name. It does make you sound smarter if you have a double surname, though."
*She joked, seeming like she was getting invested in that conversation. She spent a moment looking at the man's hand after their introduction before matching his eyeline again, never expecting to see a beastkin do nailcare. Maybe this one was special, or maybe she just didn't spend enough time interacting with his kin to grasp their fashion norms.*
"Oh, they are, but not always in the good way... Oh, and you may call me Seraph, instead of that letter mashup of a name I have."