Daryl was pretty aware of the comings and goings of the supernatural sort in the Richmond area near the bike shop he worked at. Most of the people were metas or witches. Not exactly a diverse crowd. A few shifters like himself, but weres... that wasn't a sight often seen. Or a scent often smelled. Not near the bike shop anyway.

But it was that scent on the wind near enough to be caught that had Daryl casually walking out on his afternoon smoke break and following it down a couple block. He wasn't really worried about a werewolf, of course. They kept to their own the same as Hillingdon. Vampires were shit to them. Was all about the same.

Daryl wasn't sure what he'd expected the were to be, but an artsy kid selling paintings definitely wasn't on the list. It caught his attention enough that instead of just hanging out across the street watching to make sure his personal territory was protected, he actually crossed over and started almost admiring the pieces.

He didn't bother introducing himself or talking right away. The kid could probably tell he was a shifter by scent even if he couldn't tell what kind. And if he was observant enough, he'd know that the area was his (look, he marked it, it was his, the other cats in the area could piss right off and so could the dogs).