Ringer doesn't like the so-called Retreat or most of the people there. Most of the great hunters seemed to work primarily on their own, with only rumors and legends of the best drifting through the area more often than not. The occasional whisper suggested an old tattooed woman in the corner or a guy who looked like he belonged in the financial district buying rounds were people of note, but those kinds of tales rarely turned out to be true. Instead it was mostly riff-raff and wannabes in her limited experience, which were rarely any help at all.

Tonight isn't much different. She'd been in a mood to begin with when she arrived with the hope of selling off an old crossbow. It was in good condition, given to her by an asshole of a shapeshifter she'd since killed and no longer wants anything to do with. It should be straight forward, but she won't sell for cheap on principle and doesn't handle harassment well. A couple hours and no buyers later, she's on her way out.

Ringer slams through the door and pulls up short directly in front of the strange man in the brown leather coat about to enter. She frowns at him, nearly a scowl, in spite of his doing nothing at all. In an slightly irritable tone, she demands, "Are you a hunter?"