"Good evening… Town, you say? Simply take the road on wards, then right when it branches. Being outside so late… why might that be?"

A smoking pipe, by scent it’s flavoured smoke and not tobacco, is raised to his lips, he expels curiously blue smoke after taking a short puff, the pipe soon resting back by his side. He has no interest in attacking, clearly. Although he does take note of the man’s hair colour… one of his kind, perhaps?

"You are aware of the legends, correct?"

He muses to himself, looking no where in particular.

"A young man like yourself with white hair… a wonder you have not been shot on sight."

"My reasons are not for you to know," he offers in dry response to his question. Vanilla's previously cold eyes flash with anger, however, at the other's next words. 

"What exactly are you implying," he nearly growls. "If it's that I am something other than human, I am afraid you're grossly mistaken."

How dare he... how dare he. Vanilla takes a few steps towards the man, faint hints of malice beginning to bleed into the air about him.

Dio’s actually on watch outside his home. With Jonathan around, he only wishes to protect his brother. Standing with his arms crossed outside, he looks no different from the regular folk. Besides that tell tale silver hair. He had just finished picking an antelope carcass clean, storing the flesh would sate him and his brother for a good week or so. Hunting human prey has grown all the more risky… and despite the vast difference in taste, he knows his brother still had such pesky morals…

Ah. There. He's found what he was looking for- the sudden beginning of a "new" set of tracks in the mud. Human.

Vanilla crouches to examine them. They appear to belong to someone of above average height and weight. Though sketchy, the information he's received about Dio thus far paints him as a tall, muscular man, with a head of the silver hair so typical of werewolf kind. Vanilla's jaw sets... These tracks could easily belong to such a man. Again, Vanilla rises to follow the trail.

Several minutes pass and he comes upon a home. There's a figure standing outside- tall, and apparently male. Vanilla pauses to observe him from a distance, noting that he is curiously inactive, almost as though waiting for someone, or perhaps simply standing guard. When the other spots him and nods, Vanilla makes the decision to approach. It is confident and direct.

"...Good evening," he says when he's within earshot. His voice and expression are cold, no attempt being made whatsoever at feigning friendliness. "Can you tell me the way back to town from here?"

Now that he's this close, it's unmistakably obvious, even at night. That silver hair.

[He drinks most of his beer before answering.]

"...As are mine."

He takes in another lungful of smoke, then lets it out.

[He stares at him before ordering a beer.]

…That’s what I’d like to know.

The ones that survived...

Vanilla returns his stare. Returns it good and hard before opening his mouth again.

"So... we are speaking the same language, then. Good."

He pulls a cigarette from a case in his coat pocket and places it between his lips.

[He sits down a few seats from him. Its obvious this guy could be trouble.]

The young man's tone betrays a deeper meaning to his words. What is he playing at, exactly?

"...I have heard this, as well- it's wise to be cautious. But tell me, friend, what do you know of these predators?"

He turns to him slightly.

"...Likewise."

He regards the other with great scrutiny, setting his drink down on the bar. 

I’m glad I waited until now to line this one :D Cause omg lines from 6 months ago would’ve been terrible!!!