Naturally, Aaron fell in stride with the other man. Only staying behind long enough to catch the ink splashed across the top of the taller man's shoulders. "Well. Any information is better than no information."
"Black. You learn to swallow the bitter taste when you're in the trenches." Also cold. Also days old. Also not at all. So over the years, he's just learned to rather nothing in his coffee because of that. "Vanguard." Aaron responded coldly. No reason to give anything other than his callsign. Over crowded? Hardly. "If this is over crowded, you'd freak being in New York." Then he was hit with reality. Aaron laughed right at Oberon. Magic? Things that aren't human. That's rich. This guy was square right off his rocker. Then he saw that look. That one look someone gives when they aren't kidding. The one that says you shouldn't be laughing. His response was the only thing he could help.
"Fuck you." There was no way that was true. Things like magic was fake, and illusions. That was Criss Angel shit, and could be explained. This was bullshit. Then the forever home? What? That was also bullshit. He had an agenda. That can be dealt with later, but he had to figure out what to do about the... supernatural. Fuck.
Swallowing that hard pill, he order his medium dark roast black coffee, calmly took it, and sat down at a table away from most people. Listening to the soft rock gave small comfort, but not enough to deal with.
"Well, I've never met a vampire, so I better get a wooden stake." You could say he was taking this oddly well.