The coyote turned his head, regarding Heliotes casually as he took another swig from the bottle. They call me Carrion. I don't have a last name. He locked his eyes on Heliotes' orange and black orbs, the green and blue chaos in his own shining in the light. He returned the dominant attitude pitch-perfectly, ears perked through the whole confrontation and not a single downward flick of his tail. When the brute made a gesture to his bottle, a gleam flickered in his eye.So that's what he's after.
He pretended to shift his attention to the bottle, swishing what was left side to side. This bottle I'm drinking... It's almost empty. I've been drinking it for about a month now. But... I have another. He took another, larger one from his bag, tilting it from side to side and showing it was much fuller. A scratched blue Skyy bottle, the top sealed not with a traditional cap, but with a fresh- looking cork, a piece of leather placed over it and made airtight with some steel wire. This is fresh. I got it in Niagara about four months ago from a friend of mine- best moonshine I've had, period. But I'm hesitant to crack it for someone I've just met. He leaned back on one paw, the other holding the new bottle. Perhaps if you were to prove yourself, I'd be inclined to give you the bottle.
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