Still, he had charm! He had his wit! And he had his ability to convince people to do things for him!
So, with the confidence of a prince fallen on hard times, Riven approached the counter and flashed his most dazzling, harmless-lost-puppy smile. "A drink, please."
The barkeep—a burly man with thick arms, a balding head, and a mustache that looked like it had a life of its own—narrowed his eyes. He looked Riven up and down, taking in his ragged state, and let out a slow, unimpressed grunt.
"I'll see what I can do for you."
Riven flinched. Damn it. He should have led with the puppy eyes.
He clasped his hands together and leaned in dramatically, eyes glistening. "Please… I'm so… hungry…" He hoped the barkeep would go faster.
The barkeep exhaled through his nose, looking away as if trying not to be swayed. But Riven saw the hesitation. This was still wolf territory, which meant, in theory, wolves helped their own. Riven just had to play into that.
