The scarred, bone laden coyote sat up, crawling to the edge of the roof and looking down. There stood a young coyote, too young to shift yet, and an approaching male in Optime form. After a futile attempt to recognise the two, he finally sighed. I'm just watching the skies. It's whiskey- You can have some if you come on up. I climbed out a window. He climbed back up to where he'd been sitting. If people wanted to relax with him, who was he to stop them? The coyote picked up his satchel, and then the bottle. He'd share- always did. Even with Helotes, when he'd been pinned by the brute. He smirked, pulled out the crude-cut cork and sniffed it. He guessed it did smell good... but the other coyote would probably be very disappointed when he tasted the swill. He capped it aghain and went to the window, where he lifted the glass so that the two could get in. Or out, rather.
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