Jensen looked up when the bartender first greeted him and barely masked the surprise on his face. The ginger man, a few inches shorter than himself, was rather handsome looking, but his eyes drew Jensen's attention. They were the most mesmerizing, beautiful green with flecks of gold and it was all Jensen could do not to get lost in them. He shook himself out of his daze, muttering something about a long day on the road. His eyes read the menu that apparently Ian, as he heard another man in the bar call the ginger, handed him.

As Jensen's dark mocha eyes scanned over the menu though, his ears tuned into a drunk man regaling anyone who would listen with his monster story. He analyzed the drunk from out of his peripherals, studying his movements and words for deceit and embellishment. In his line of work you learned to study people, pick out the truth from the fiction, and drunks were always Jensen's favorite. Sure their tongues embellished more with the help of liquid courage but, it they were also looser and easier to read. It was easier to chip away the fluff and nonsense from a drunkard's tale than it was a sober man's tale. A drunkard held nothing back, gilding his story to incredible lengths while a sober man picked and chose his details.

"You have any local beer?" Jensen asked. One of the perks of traveling around for him, was the chance to try out different brews. It was one of the few things that kept the grind of a new town, a new motel, from becoming too much. That and the gratitude of the people he helped and saved from the monsters out there, from the horrendous things that went bump in the night. And from what he heard so far, this should be a simple werewolf hunt. Cap it in the heart with a silver bullet, dispose of the body and slip out of town with the only reminder left was the drunkard's tall tales.