The moment permission was given, he visibly relaxed, and ducked his head again, teeth flashing again in a broad grin, bright and warm as heat-lightning in summer. "Sir." For those familiar to the habits of those who had long been wolves, it all amounted to less-than-subtle submissive posturing.

His expression crumpled at the sight of the sigil, and he moistened his lips.

"Greenwich. Gonna be war there, I bet. Local pack's... in some disarray. I think one of the alpha-types is organising a sortie there, try to consolidate some power. Nothin' brings wolves together like a fight, yeah? An' the bloodsuckers are movin' in," He mentioned them and managed to flash the sharper ends of his teeth in a grimace, nose wrinkling as if he had smelled something rotten.

"Tryin' to gain a foothold closer the river. Any new territory for them is a spit in the eye of the wolves, so. Bound to come to a head. That.. that, um, mark, sir," and he tilted his head to include Mab in his explanation, chin ducking, "milady-- looks Vamp, to me. Add a slash toward the bottom and it'd be the symbol of the old Wallachian lifedrinkers. No good for anyone, if that's the case. They don't keep the Veil, don't care about cleanin' up after themselves or mortal eyes."