There's a hint of smugness in Llua as he crosses both arms in greeting followed by a slight bow. Archie mirrors the older man.

"Welcome, burr'i. I have been anticipating your visit. Water?"

With a whistle one of Llua's boys detaches himself from the shadowy corners of the open room with a persperating bottle of water in one hand.

"I'm good."

The burly man pats the newly vacated space on his left. "Sit."

Empty glasses of alk and tiny mountains of cigarettes clutter the king's table. Crumbs of deep-fried pork skin lay half-eaten on several plates; it along with the pungent smell of vinegar play tug of war with the thin veil of smoke shrouding the group. Inspite it all there's evident relief in Archie's temples. For how long he thought he could negate himself of it he doesn't know. Magic slips into the young man's scarred tattoo wrapping it in invisible static like a welcoming blanket. In his mind's eye he is back home, back to his grandparents and their people chanting prayers in near perfect harmony to the Archaic Gods under a starry night. A child's voice becoming one with his elders, with the world and with the Gods. Though what remains are mere fragments of prayers in a tongue he no longer speak, the melody of it lives on in his heart. Archie occasionally hums it to himself when the numbness of boredom latches its hold on him when exhaustion seeps into mind. Or when he brushes his teeth after a grueling week serving folks who had everything handed to them for their title alone. It was the only concession he kept for himself to remember where he came from. Who he is.

"You're a dumb boy." Llua shakes his head. From his black leather jacket he retrieves a stick of cigarette. Not a second too late Marlo settles to his right with a matchbox on the ready. A quick flick later and the man takes in a long, lazy drag; one of many others for the night no doubt. "Resisting against your very nature is to put one's control over it in jeopardy. How long ago since you last shed under the Moon Goddess' light?"

Archie's jaw tightens. "Last month. I have not lost it yet, if that's what your implying."

"Shedding without an amulet is risky and you know it."

"If you happen to find out where ema'y burried it, hit me a call." He waves away the cloud of smoke without success.

Marlo jumps from his seat. "You think this is funny?!"

Even under the neon light Archie can see thin line of veins running through Mad Marlo's tight fist. A flash of red glow outlines his iris; the tips of his canines turn visibly sharper.

"Marlo."

Llua's commanding voice and flippant gesture reins the man back to his seat. Marlo obeys, red eyes focused still on the stray. Archie breaks away from the menacing stare.

"Why am I here, really?" The final growl suprises even him.

Archie watches hypnotised as Llua licks the sharp edges of his teeth. He flicks the cigarette away, leaning closer. Unlike Mad Marlo, Llua the Black's eyes are a deep pool of burgundy. Swirls of gold speckles mixes with the color rendering its victim motionless. Any other blessed of the moon would be immune to this type of magic. One who has cut off his connection on the other hand becomes but an unintended prey themself. The man who held the bottle of water earlier reappers again, this time behind Archie. Strong arms wrap around the young man's neck. At the same time Marlo deliberately saunters to his other side.

"You, dumb Sal'awi, shall join us at tonight's hunt."

Dark eyes dart frantically between his unknown captor and the king. The young man is helpless when Marlo jerks his chin backward with a sharp tug. Cool fingers forces Archie's mouth wide open while the Black Beast of Port Alba pour liquid down his throat.