on the prowl.

Errol wanted the man at ease. Not, really, for any sense of deception, but it was something he had learned over many decades of work – how to use a soft tone, to make his posture loose, to appear unassuming.

He had been part of the constabulary, yes. He has also been special forces. He had also worked with k-9s. There was a lot he knew and, yes, a lot he did not.

But he knew this: he didn't always want people nervous around him. Sometimes, he just wanted a conversation.

The teasing from the other man lands, and Errol chuckles, grin briefly going crooked as he tilts his glass in a small toast. "Missin' cats an' house burglaries, mostly," he says, the lie rolling smooth off his tongue.

It was only mostly a lie, after all. He did get those kinds of cases, but they weren't his only ones.

"Oh, I bet you're really missin' dose kinda cases," he drawled, only one step short of rolling his eyes, "But what're de ol' ladies gonna do 'bout their missin' cats now? Did someone take over de casework for you?" He figured it was good to ask just in case there was another PI in town that he might have to keep an eye out for.

He had gotten more used to town, but Roux would not say he had quite adjusted yet. "Let's say I'm gettin' dere. I wasn't sure what t' make o' it all at first, but I've got a pretty good set-up now wit' dis job, an' I'm gettin' more used t' de things I see 'round here. Still don' know dat it's quite de place for me, but I ain't ready t' turn tail an' run outta town either. So I guess dat's progress."

Ah, there it was. That moment where someone decided he was nothing to worry about, that he was no threat. That he was too old, too worn down or, perhaps, simply not going to do whatever it was they had initially feared.

A slow grin crosses his face and he spreads his hands, palms up, on the bar top before shrugging a shoulder. "Get t' firefighters tae do it, I reckon. Dunno. I jus' go where 'm called."

And, for the most part, that was true. As for the rest, well, that was none of his business.

Errol could tell when someone was trying to figure him out, whether it be himself or his accent. Sometimes, lime now, it was amusing. Other times, it was less than so.

"Mine 'ad high crime, smacking t' middle or tail end o' t' Troubles," he offers, cracking a smile. People didn't realize his mother had grown up in it, nor that he'd been influenced by it. But it was a truth that Errol carried with him, always.

"Only pack 've 'as was me family, an' they ain't wolf, jus' our last name," he murmurs, chuckling quietly at the semi-joke of it all. The one who'd turned him had done it because he was dying, and he'd asked. The rest of it, well...he'd not wanted to bother with pack or politics, had wanted to be left alone, particularly until he was out of his job.

He'd never talked much about it, his dad was the type who was quiet when it came to what he called the before the important things in his life; before meeting that chance meeting, before taking over the bar, before the family he'd found and started in the pack.

But Lucky had learned from his own pack, from Scott and from Kurt still so new to it all, that the world was a lot harder for those who remembered being human. Lucky couldn't even guess how that might have felt, or how hard it might have been. So he tried to give those he ran across in that situation just a little more grace, a little more forgiveness when they stumbled over pack expectations and social rules; it wasn't always easy learning to be something new.

But Errol had been at it a while. The man had a few years on him that Lucky himself hadn't gone through, and he'd always been taught to respect his elders, and to listen because a lot of the times they have the experience to understand the world better.

Sometimes though it meant they had lived through things that were harder.

"Ah, things were always on m'side on tha one; back home ya couldn't take two steps without trippin' over somebody," mostly cousins because he had a lot of those, "now it's th'sorta thing I miss."

But Errol had lived in a different world.

"Ya never know," he speculated, optimistically, "ya find things along th' way. Places like this ya stand a lot better chance at it. Th'locals aren't too bad."

He felt that stirring to offer something as well, because lonely was lonely and it hit a soft spot in his chest.

"Might not be much but th'cinema always has open doors," he pointed out, even if he knew he could only offer that extension of welcome from himself. Scott and Kurt were still nervous about being known, and Errol likely was too because it got around when a wolf was out in town because they were few and far between, like himself and Roland. "Quiet too," he added, just in case Errol thought he might have done anything to expose him; Lucky had his wolves with secrets to look after.

Though he barely knew the young man (and wolf) in front of him, he smacked of upstanding honesty. It makes Errol grin slightly, a hitching of the corner of his mouth, and nod.

"Jus' me mam an' sister an' I fer ages. Me sister's expectin' another wee one." Or was, rather. She'd had the baby near end of May. "But 's jus' 'er, me sister-in-law, t' kids."

While he'd often wondered what a large family was like, Errol had never missed what he hadn't known and, for quite some time, it'd just been him and his mother, so his family had been even more insular than it was now when he'd been a lad.

The offer of the cinema makes his grin widen, and Errol acknowledges the offer with a bow of his head, fingers drumming on the side of the trolley.

Did Errol expect to be kept waiting? Yes, yes he did. He'd had long practice with it at the county office, and had experienced it in the lull of all small towns. So, his smile softens and hw nods, and leans a bit against the counter, tuning out the sightsmellthings of the wolf stirring around curiously beneath his skin.

The nose wrinkle makes him snort softly, but he gives her a soft "alright," and patiently waits for her to do just that.

The phone rang for some time, and when he didn't pick up, there was a furrow of confusion on her face.

"Aye, can see 'at. Did it jus' ring, or didja get a click over?" One was a bit different from the other; one meant he genuinely wasn't here. The other meant he was possibly beinag avoided, and who needed that claptrap when he was just doing a bloody job?

She was picking up a scent of her own-- the scent of something suspicious. She had always loved true crime and watched all the documentaries and movies with her sisters. So she was starting to notice a few interesting clues here that made her think that Ian Shreever was a person of interest.

But in what way? Was Errol tracking down a villain? Or was Errol the villain?

"Sorry, I don't know if I remember-- I'll check again," she said sweetly. She jabbed in the number and listened to the ringing...

Click.

She put the phone down. "There was a click. Do you want me to leave a message? You can even leave a note if you'd like." She smiled.

If he'd still been employed by the county office, Errol could have flashed a badge and bypassed all of this. It had been fairly easy, on occasion, to do just that.

Now, however, and much to the regret of everyone involved, he had to think – and that? That was an area he excelled.

Fingers drumming lightly against the counter, Errol ran over all the information he had about the man. Fishing out his phone, Errol reroutes it to the PI office computer, the information he has on Shreever.

As he'd thought. This little lost items case wasn't a case at all. In fact, Errol believes he might have been almost fleeced, and that Shreever wasn't just 'passing through.'

"Nae, lassie," he murmurs, glancing up at her from his phone with a lopsided half-grin on his face. "But ye could do one more fing, an' it'd be real 'elpful. Couldja see if it still says he's checked in? 'Ve a 'unch. Tell me if t' screen glitches or warbles at all, please."

Errol hadn't really been into the Tipton. Of course, he'd passed it by many a tims in town, but he'd never really been inside. But he had a client staying there – some out-of-towner who'd come into Swynlake for business in NTO and had had his things nicked on the train in.

It was regrettable he hadn't gone to the police – didn't want to 'bother them,' he'd said – and, so, had popped into the PI office, tasked Errol with finding his things, and called every bloody day since.

No. He had been the sheriff. Maximus Keaton was the sheriff now. Honestly, June was not up to date on all that, but she was mildly intrigued by what this bloke was doing here and what he wanted with an "Ian Shreever."

Though it meant that she had to do her job. She wrinkled her nose and sighed, then started clicking around on the computer. "Hold on-- I can call his room."

She punched in his number and put the old-school receiver to her ear. It rang...and rang...

Click.

She raised her eyebrows. "Uh, sorry, he didn't answer."

Did Errol expect to be kept waiting? Yes, yes he did. He'd had long practice with it at the county office, and had experienced it in the lull of all small towns. So, his smile softens and hw nods, and leans a bit against the counter, tuning out the sightsmellthings of the wolf stirring around curiously beneath his skin.

The nose wrinkle makes him snort softly, but he gives her a soft "alright," and patiently waits for her to do just that.

The phone rang for some time, and when he didn't pick up, there was a furrow of confusion on her face.

"Aye, can see 'at. Did it jus' ring, or didja get a click over?" One was a bit different from the other; one meant he genuinely wasn't here. The other meant he was possibly beinag avoided, and who needed that claptrap when he was just doing a bloody job?

Sitting at the front desk, June deadpanned the line without looking up from where she was currently scrolling through her phone, trying to keep up with a tennis match. She popped her gum.

Errol hadn't really been into the Tipton. Of course, he'd passed it by many a tims in town, but he'd never really been inside. But he had a client staying there – some out-of-towner who'd come into Swynlake for business in NTO and had had his things nicked on the train in.

It was regrettable he hadn't gone to the police – didn't want to 'bother them,' he'd said – and, so, had popped into the PI office, tasked Errol with finding his things, and called every bloody day since.

The wolf could smell the other before the man walked around the corner of the market. They'd grown accustomed to scenting people, the man and his wolf, and knew when they were familiar or not, Magick or not.

And this one, for what it was worth, happened to be both.

Clearing his throat, Errol offers a short nod to the younger werewolf, then tries to step around him. When he realizes there isn't room, even out here, he quietly sighs then looks the other full in the face.

The grocery shopping was never-ending with two appetites that could be especially demanding after full moons and running through the forest. It was the planning ahead weeks before that meant they didn't spend the day after eating takeout that didn't really satisfy much. Especially with Scott; the guy was practically a carnivore the few days leading up to and after the full moon. Lucky was less affected but he'd also been living with the wolfish influence on his moods, self control and hunger his entire life compared to the barely two years Scott had.

So he did a lot of grocery shopping, and they both did a lot of...less than great cooking.

He hadn't even started, paused to pull up his list on his phone, when the other man tried to shuffle past him.

"Oh, hello." Lucky couldn't help but chuckle because he had crossed paths with Errol a few times before and there was a wariness about him that was understandable, but always struck him as a bit unfortunate.

But that was a product of growing up in such a large pack and with community as a sense of comfort; he'd seen so many wolves who had never had the benefit of that security since he'd left home.

"Sooner or later you're bound t'run into everybody 'round here though," Lucky realized he was in the way though and moved to the side to be polite and in part because some wolves were always on edge about feeling cornered in a way he didn't like to upset folks over, "can't say it's not one of th'reasons I like small towns."

The chuckle earns a faint twitch of his eyebrow upward, head tilting ever-so-slightly to one side. It's not concerned, this movement, nor angry, just...studying. Curious. Errol was just as curious and ever-watchful as his wolf was. A byproduct of his upbringing, perhaps, or his background, his work. It didn't matter abd Errol didn't try to name it. It just was.

With that done, he snorts softly, a concession made, and allows the lad's words to draw a half-grin from his mouth, tugging it up to show the corner of a smile. "Aye. Ye do. An' sometimes at t' least welcome o' times. Nae speakin' 'ere, mind," he says, voice and tone ever-cool, always soft, pitched in a manner that bellied his presence.

The older man steps neatly around the werewolf, pitching his hip slightly into the shelf to knock off the thing he needed into his hand. It took three seconds before it was in his trolley cart and Errol was turned back toward him again.

"I grew up in a small neighborhood. Wasnae very welcomin', though. But ye get used tae it." Eyes stray to the younger man's cart and, seeing all the meat, his grin widens and a dry chuckle escapes.

But Lucky always found it interesting. Maybe it was because he had such a strong accent himself and people didn't always seem to get what he was saying either. He felt more inclined to pay attention. It wasn't that difficult, it reminded him a bit of some of the oldest among the pack or the coven who had come from much deeper places in the mountains originally.

He'd also heard stories like that before, one's very different from his own where growing up had felt like belonging rather than trying to fit in, at least not until he had left the sheltering borders of the town he'd known, past even Nashville and further into the world where not everyone had that same opinion.

"Can't say I envy that, home was a lot more like this place," he admitted, knowing how fortunate he was with that, "about the only difference was my pack was quite a bit larger there." Lucky chuckled, because that wasn't such a terrible thing either now that he was the one in charge of that pack; the idea had felt huge and overwhelming when he had known it meant dozens of wolves to keep up with rather than just the sparse few he was supposed to be looking after now.

Some days even that felt an awful lot bigger than himself though.

And he didn't like to mention those things too often anyway, seemed like nearly every wolf he ran across in town was on their own and he could understand when the world wasn't very kind and it was hard to trust people. He'd gone through those years himself and thought he still would be; not having to anymore was a refuge all in itself and not one that everyone had the luxury of so he didn't like to point it out.

Errol could tell when someone was trying to figure him out, whether it be himself or his accent. Sometimes, lime now, it was amusing. Other times, it was less than so.

"Mine 'ad high crime, smacking t' middle or tail end o' t' Troubles," he offers, cracking a smile. People didn't realize his mother had grown up in it, nor that he'd been influenced by it. But it was a truth that Errol carried with him, always.

"Only pack 've 'as was me family, an' they ain't wolf, jus' our last name," he murmurs, chuckling quietly at the semi-joke of it all. The one who'd turned him had done it because he was dying, and he'd asked. The rest of it, well...he'd not wanted to bother with pack or politics, had wanted to be left alone, particularly until he was out of his job.

Errol's smirk slants, a bit more comfortable now, into a small smile. Listening to the sound of the man's speech, the way he formed his letters, was an almost wasy thing. It was something Errol could sink into, the familiarity if picking up and picking at accents just to be a tit.

He might not do it now, but he would. It was the kind of accent he'd toy around with, see if he could toss around a bit. But not now.

And not, particularly, after he sees that little bit of tension in the man's shoulders once Errol explains what he had done. He'd expected it, and knew it would land. He still raises a half a hand, a few fingers waving him down almost subtly.

"Nae, not anymore. 'S a younger man's job," he says, grinning outright, now, at his own jest. He takss a drink, then shrugs. "Most o' t' cases me an' me partner took were small town."

He taps a random beat on the side of his glass, gaze tracking the forced grin, the miniscule thread of tension that lingered between his eyes, across the line of his shoulders. The man, he guesses, might have grown up rough, or once was. Perhaps still was, and that was why he was here.

"Grew up in a rough place, worked in a rougher one," he finally says, taking another drink. "Fink ye know what 'm on about, eh? Jus'...easier tae take what I get 'ere, keep me busy."

"Ah come on, you seem plenty spry t' me," he teased, feeling much more comfortable in doing so now, "What kinda cases you get in a small town anyway? Someone made off wit' a li'l ol' lady's petunias?"

Roux was not one to commiserate with anyone, but he had to admit he did know what the guy was talking about. "Oui, I know a bit 'bout dat," he said, giving a small shrug, "Dis town's definitely a change from what I'm used t'. Not in a bad way, really. It's jus'…a bit o' an adjustment. Guessin' you like it here, den?"

Plenty of people seemed to like being in town. He did not dislike it, and it did seem to be growing on him, but Roux was still a long ways off from wanting to settle down, if he ever would be.

Errol wanted the man at ease. Not, really, for any sense of deception, but it was something he had learned over many decades of work – how to use a soft tone, to make his posture loose, to appear unassuming.

He had been part of the constabulary, yes. He has also been special forces. He had also worked with k-9s. There was a lot he knew and, yes, a lot he did not.

But he knew this: he didn't always want people nervous around him. Sometimes, he just wanted a conversation.

The teasing from the other man lands, and Errol chuckles, grin briefly going crooked as he tilts his glass in a small toast. "Missin' cats an' house burglaries, mostly," he says, the lie rolling smooth off his tongue.

It was only mostly a lie, after all. He did get those kinds of cases, but they weren't his only ones.

Errol had wondered, admittedly, who the little girl was he could smell on the woman. It wasn't his place, he wasn't going to ask, but the name slotted neatly into his brain for he and the wolf. Penny. Family, friend. Someone to care about, if they were allowed to.

He doesn't say anything of this, though, doesn't ever know how to articulate himself when it comes to the wolf and Jess. But Errol grins, and it's soft around the edges, lopsided in a way that was less putting something on, more sincere.

"I'll let 'er know. Stubborn wee fing, always 'as been," he huffs, shaking his head, fingers going through his curls. A nervous tick, if anything was.

But his gaze finds her face, brow furrowing as he tilts his head, confused for a moment before it dawnson him. "Bring 'er, if ye wanna. Or tae t' office, if ye need. Any time. Jus' call. An' 'fore ye say no: 'Elped raise Lilian when me sister was deployed, so 'til she was 'bout three consistently. If ye need someone else, ever, I'll take 'er."

And he would, in a heartbeat. Errol didn’t even need to think about it, nor did his wolf. And he knew Jessica didn't understand, that she'd always been a bit stand-offish with his job, and perhaps even with his status now, he didn't know, but...he didn't want her to think she was alone.

Sure, she could be stubborn herself, but she was generally less obvious about it. She bent like a willow, appearing to give in, and then letting the problems pass by leaving her standing in the wake.

His offer is sweet but she merely chuckled. "I appreciate it, but I'm not bringing a toddler to a self defense class." Not without a designated baby sitter. It would be far too easy for her to wander into the middle of the session and actually get hurt. Or worse, she'd practice exactly what she was seeing in the class and end up punching her cousin, not realizing she'd done something wrong.

This age was a dangerous one for kids as they often emulated everything they saw.

"But I'll let you know if we do end up needing another babysitter this summer. We'll have to see if you can come over for dinner sometime soon so she can get to know you a little better."

A family trait I think.

Errol grumbles under his breath, huffing at her, but doesn't argue. She wasn't entirely wrong. He, his sister, and the rest of their family were remarkably stubborn. It was both am endearing trait and a taxing one.

Jessica's quiet chuckle drags him back, eyes snapping forward again, and a bemused smile curls around his own mouth. "Ach, well, we cannae 'ave that. We'll figure it out, if ye still wanna."

Because he did think it would be a good thing, for them both, to get back into something like this again.

But, hell, it's be painfully endearing to see a little one like Penny at the classes.

Errol nods at the close, shifting in his chair before surprise laces his features. Sometimes he didn't really think he'd be welcome, and not just because of what he now was. After leaving, he'd somehow gotten it into his head he was a nuisance.

Jess nods, tracking what he's saying. She's quiet, but it isn't abnormal, isn't the kind of silence meant to be filled - it's the kind of silence that meant calibration.

Errol had always appreciated that about her.

"Aye," he says, a small grin appearing, a short nod, "I fink so, too. Give another option fer people. Right now 'm finkin' maybe twice monthly, but 's flexible. Me sister's havin' a second baby. Due any day now, this month. Lil' girl, so 'm gonna be movin' between 'ere an' them fer a tick."

And that didn't account for his investigation work that he'd taken up in Perry's absence - the little hole it made, and which he was slowly refilling with work while he restructured around it.

It felt a little strange at her stage of life to be talking about babies and baby clothes like that, but it was true. It'd be nice to share what she could.

But mentioning Penny also brought about the problem.

"It sounds wonderful, but I might have to think about it - just to see how it works out with the timing. I'm already having to lean on Nick a lot for babysitting, and summer tends to mean even longer hours. She's still just so young at this stage and with everything with Elemaran...its been a tough year."

Errol had wondered, admittedly, who the little girl was he could smell on the woman. It wasn't his place, he wasn't going to ask, but the name slotted neatly into his brain for he and the wolf. Penny. Family, friend. Someone to care about, if they were allowed to.

He doesn't say anything of this, though, doesn't ever know how to articulate himself when it comes to the wolf and Jess. But Errol grins, and it's soft around the edges, lopsided in a way that was less putting something on, more sincere.

"I'll let 'er know. Stubborn wee fing, always 'as been," he huffs, shaking his head, fingers going through his curls. A nervous tick, if anything was.

But his gaze finds her face, brow furrowing as he tilts his head, confused for a moment before it dawnson him. "Bring 'er, if ye wanna. Or tae t' office, if ye need. Any time. Jus' call. An' 'fore ye say no: 'Elped raise Lilian when me sister was deployed, so 'til she was 'bout three consistently. If ye need someone else, ever, I'll take 'er."

And he would, in a heartbeat. Errol didn’t even need to think about it, nor did his wolf. And he knew Jessica didn't understand, that she'd always been a bit stand-offish with his job, and perhaps even with his status now, he didn't know, but...he didn't want her to think she was alone.

"Nae, most people dunna, 's alright, lad," he says, the tone neither overly friendly nor overly familiar, but there's a hint of a grin to the words, something almost cheeky to them. "But yer right tae say 'ere's too many, 'cause 'ere is."

And it was true. There were far too many accents in Swynlake. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with them all, let alone decipher them.

"Mmm, it was. 's where t' Americans get that fuckin' drink name from," he murmurs, rolling his eyes, the tinge of anger in his tone long since beat to death.

A beat pauses him at the question, wondering how quickly the man would shut down if he admitted all he did. It was highly likely, and something he was unfortunately fairly used to. But, for once, he wanted to keep prodding.

"Oui, dere's a lot more'n I thought dere would be. Guess I'm jus' gonna hafta try an' keep up wit' dem!" What he had heard about the Troubles indicated that it probably was not something this guy would want to dwell on, and he nodded, hopefully indicating that he was sorry for what had gone on.

Hearing what the other wolf did for a living made Roux tense just the slightest bit. But he had said he was now a private detective instead of with the constabulary, which made him a little less concerned. A PI would only bother coming after him if someone had hired them to do it, after all, so he most likely did not have anything to worry about. Especially when the guy said he was technically retired.

"Oh I bet sittin' 'round gets borin'. You prob'ly wanna get out dere an' chase more bad guys, huh?" His smile was just a tiny bit forced, not wanting to admit to the other wolf that there was a bad guy for him to chase right in front of him.

Errol's smirk slants, a bit more comfortable now, into a small smile. Listening to the sound of the man's speech, the way he formed his letters, was an almost wasy thing. It was something Errol could sink into, the familiarity if picking up and picking at accents just to be a tit.

He might not do it now, but he would. It was the kind of accent he'd toy around with, see if he could toss around a bit. But not now.

And not, particularly, after he sees that little bit of tension in the man's shoulders once Errol explains what he had done. He'd expected it, and knew it would land. He still raises a half a hand, a few fingers waving him down almost subtly.

"Nae, not anymore. 'S a younger man's job," he says, grinning outright, now, at his own jest. He takss a drink, then shrugs. "Most o' t' cases me an' me partner took were small town."

He taps a random beat on the side of his glass, gaze tracking the forced grin, the miniscule thread of tension that lingered between his eyes, across the line of his shoulders. The man, he guesses, might have grown up rough, or once was. Perhaps still was, and that was why he was here.

"Grew up in a rough place, worked in a rougher one," he finally says, taking another drink. "Fink ye know what 'm on about, eh? Jus'...easier tae take what I get 'ere, keep me busy."

This would hopefully be a good way for Errol to keep busy. He wasn't built for early retirement like that.

The last statement was much more surprising.

"Oh wow." Her first instinct was to say yes. After all, she and Errol had been running those classes together for years. She loved them.

But. Her life was a lot more complicated now.

"I think that sounds like a wonderful idea Errol! What kind of schedule are you looking at for this?"

Jess nods, tracking what he's saying. She's quiet, but it isn't abnormal, isn't the kind of silence meant to be filled - it's the kind of silence that meant calibration.

Errol had always appreciated that about her.

"Aye," he says, a small grin appearing, a short nod, "I fink so, too. Give another option fer people. Right now 'm finkin' maybe twice monthly, but 's flexible. Me sister's havin' a second baby. Due any day now, this month. Lil' girl, so 'm gonna be movin' between 'ere an' them fer a tick."

And that didn't account for his investigation work that he'd taken up in Perry's absence - the little hole it made, and which he was slowly refilling with work while he restructured around it.

"Sorry, I prob'ly shoulda recognized de accent. Guess dere's jus' so many different ones I been hearin' lately dat it's throwin' me off. But I do think I heard a bit 'bout de Troubles, yeah. Don' know too much 'bout it, but I know it wasn't good."

Several people now had told him that he would get used to the town, even to the point of choosing not to leave. Roux still was highly skeptical of that, but if it had happened to a fair amount of others, then he could not completely ignore the law of averages either. "For work, huh? What you do for work, den?"

He contemplated his answer for a moment, then finally said, "A change o' scenery, you might say. Wasn't really feelin' my previous place o' residence, an' dis seemed as good a place as any t' start over. An' so far, dat seems like a pretty accurate assessment."

"Nae, most people dunna, 's alright, lad," he says, the tone neither overly friendly nor overly familiar, but there's a hint of a grin to the words, something almost cheeky to them. "But yer right tae say 'ere's too many, 'cause 'ere is."

And it was true. There were far too many accents in Swynlake. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with them all, let alone decipher them.

"Mmm, it was. 's where t' Americans get that fuckin' drink name from," he murmurs, rolling his eyes, the tinge of anger in his tone long since beat to death.

A beat pauses him at the question, wondering how quickly the man would shut down if he admitted all he did. It was highly likely, and something he was unfortunately fairly used to. But, for once, he wanted to keep prodding.

Jessica relaxes back into her seat at his entrance, a smile on her face. It makes Errol relax, as well, shoulders falling to lay flat away from his ears, the wolf stirring uneasily in his chest at the prospect of being unwelcome here falling silent.

His own smile widens, just a tick, before he nods. Shouldering the door closed witb a soft snick! behind him, Errol comes forward enough to set her drink down on the edge of her desk, label toward her.

When he sits, he crosses his legs, one arm draped over the side, the other balancing his take away cup on a knee.

Trust Errol to remember her drink. He was good at details like that.

"How will I know which one I want to hear until I hear them all? I think you'd better get started and then I can tell you my favorite afterward." But after that teasing statement, she softened slightly. "it's good to see you too."

How will I know which one I want to hear? Better get started.

That was just like Jessica, really, and it abuses him. It makes him chuckle, even, something Errol finds he doesn't always do easily when he's just on his own.

"Well, alright 'en. Retired officially, which ye prob'ly figured, but I've taken up at Flynn's since he's gone. Not officially or anyfin', but –"

A shrug, as casual as he could make it. It was still odd, for him and the wolf both, nkt to find the gangly detective in a place where his scent still haunted it.

The wolf could smell the other before the man walked around the corner of the market. They'd grown accustomed to scenting people, the man and his wolf, and knew when they were familiar or not, Magick or not.

And this one, for what it was worth, happened to be both.

Clearing his throat, Errol offers a short nod to the younger werewolf, then tries to step around him. When he realizes there isn't room, even out here, he quietly sighs then looks the other full in the face.

The grocery shopping was never-ending with two appetites that could be especially demanding after full moons and running through the forest. It was the planning ahead weeks before that meant they didn't spend the day after eating takeout that didn't really satisfy much. Especially with Scott; the guy was practically a carnivore the few days leading up to and after the full moon. Lucky was less affected but he'd also been living with the wolfish influence on his moods, self control and hunger his entire life compared to the barely two years Scott had.

So he did a lot of grocery shopping, and they both did a lot of...less than great cooking.

He hadn't even started, paused to pull up his list on his phone, when the other man tried to shuffle past him.

"Oh, hello." Lucky couldn't help but chuckle because he had crossed paths with Errol a few times before and there was a wariness about him that was understandable, but always struck him as a bit unfortunate.

But that was a product of growing up in such a large pack and with community as a sense of comfort; he'd seen so many wolves who had never had the benefit of that security since he'd left home.

"Sooner or later you're bound t'run into everybody 'round here though," Lucky realized he was in the way though and moved to the side to be polite and in part because some wolves were always on edge about feeling cornered in a way he didn't like to upset folks over, "can't say it's not one of th'reasons I like small towns."

The chuckle earns a faint twitch of his eyebrow upward, head tilting ever-so-slightly to one side. It's not concerned, this movement, nor angry, just...studying. Curious. Errol was just as curious and ever-watchful as his wolf was. A byproduct of his upbringing, perhaps, or his background, his work. It didn't matter abd Errol didn't try to name it. It just was.

With that done, he snorts softly, a concession made, and allows the lad's words to draw a half-grin from his mouth, tugging it up to show the corner of a smile. "Aye. Ye do. An' sometimes at t' least welcome o' times. Nae speakin' 'ere, mind," he says, voice and tone ever-cool, always soft, pitched in a manner that bellied his presence.

The older man steps neatly around the werewolf, pitching his hip slightly into the shelf to knock off the thing he needed into his hand. It took three seconds before it was in his trolley cart and Errol was turned back toward him again.

"I grew up in a small neighborhood. Wasnae very welcomin', though. But ye get used tae it." Eyes stray to the younger man's cart and, seeing all the meat, his grin widens and a dry chuckle escapes.

The wolf could smell the other before the man walked around the corner of the market. They'd grown accustomed to scenting people, the man and his wolf, and knew when they were familiar or not, Magick or not.

And this one, for what it was worth, happened to be both.

Clearing his throat, Errol offers a short nod to the younger werewolf, then tries to step around him. When he realizes there isn't room, even out here, he quietly sighs then looks the other full in the face.