In the corner of the dining room was the hyena, all Mohawk and eyeliner and his chipped black nails. He had soft foam plugs in his ears, discreet enough that they looked like AirPods or something, but it was simply because his hearing was sensitive and he got triggered sometimes by the loud ass noises that often made up public spaces. He was picking at his plate while the other hand turned pages of a book. It often surprised people that he could read, since he didn’t really come across as the intellectual type.
But that’s what you got for fucking judging.
His food was mostly raw meat, as raw as he could get it in polite company anyway. He preferred to hunt, to find the little furry things and rip them open, press his face into their bleeding holes. Slurp their gore from his fingers. He knew most shifters didn’t hunt when they were on two legs, but that was what got him off. Toeing the line always, cracking bones between his teeth to suck out the marrow.
Golden-green eyes lifted when he caught the scent of something. It was subtle enough that most wouldn’t pick up on it, but hyenas... well, hyenas liked dead things. They were predators, of course, but also scavengers and they liked rotting flesh, putrid decay. Animal had rolled in more than his share of roadkill.
He got up lazily, his tray in hand, paperback shoved into his back pocket of those torn black jeans, and he made his way to the girl who was so ravenously eating.
Slowly he set his tray down and sank across from her, his eyes locked on her face.