“Perhaps both,” he said, choosing to keep his back to the vampire who had followed him in, all hungry eyes and pale skin. Riddle didn’t have an extensive longing to sit in a bar occupied by Muggles with glasses brimming with alcohol and women with bare legs that were rubbing up against the men in silent suggestions. Riddle was known to frequent seedy places, dark alleys and shops that parents didn’t want their children ever mistakenly wondering into. This place wasn’t exactly seedy. It wasn’t a room where criminals and murderers stood with their heads covered in hoods and their voices low and whispered, despite them not caring if anybody outside of their circle heard what they had to say.
The one who had spoken to him had power, a considerable amount, enough to cause him to take notice. He didn’t approve of how some women in this city, in this time, dressed themselves, how they didn’t care that they were showing things that most fathers would have suffered a heart attack from seeing on their daughters. Elisabeth however, looked fine to him, like she belonged in what she wore. She was somebody who he would not have to strain himself to talk to.