While debated the word “almost”, had to concur with the lycanthropic mongrel before her. Well, no, mongrel wasn’t exactly the right word…not completely, anyway. But it was what many of her kind had often believed throughout the millennia. In the Carpathian Mountains in particular, they had formed a rather large pack; they were elusive and liked to toy with the vampires that inhabited the area, yet they had never caused the woman addressing this particular werewolf any trouble and she saw no reason to cause them any trouble as a result. Oh, there had been conflicts in the past, certainly; what few wars had been waged between vampires and werewolves had been violent, bloody, brutal, savage - the very essence of war incarnate on a level no mortal would ever understand.<br/><br/>“Some of my people would call you a mongrel,” she said aloud in a casual tone.<br/><br/>She continued just as nonchalantly after a moment’s pause.<br/><br/>“Your kind can be useful, however. You’re incredible trackers.”<br/><br/>It was clear from her words that while she might or might not agree with the use of the term to describe werewolves, she certainly didn’t need to treat his kind as such. There was no reason to dirty relations between them, especially when he’d so kindly decided to fetch her wine. What sort of barkeep, she wondered, did not keep the bar? At least Roscato was stocked. And the werewolf was right: the colour was as dark as blood and the flavour was almost as delicious.<br/><br/>“Busy night?” she inquired, making conversation.