Tybalt was not a reckless man, but neither was he overly cautious. Perhaps a fae shouldn't be wandering around wolf territory, but he had been born and raised in London, had first ascended to his role as King of Cats here. Why should he obey some arbitrary territorial borders? At least not during the day. He wasn't going anywhere particular, just wandering the streets, getting a feel for this newer, flashier London.

The scent of wolf hung over the area, faint, but obvious to his heightened senses. But that was to be expected. What he hadn't expected was the scent of something different. Still canine - his nose wrinkled in disgust at that. Far too many dogs here already. But his interest was piqued, so he followed the scent to it's source - a girl glaring at a coffee shop, but seeming to make no move to go inside. Well. Even more interesting.

"If you're hoping for a handout, you're going about it all wrong," he said in a totally conversational tone.