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[napoleonriot]

"I think it's exciting." Napoleon leaned against the edge of the counter as he spoke, his jaw propped up on his hand as he looked toward his big sister. There was so much nonsense to it all; Napoleon didn't consider himself a violent person; violence suggested something out of the norm. The Valters hunted people every month for sport because it was a fun game - that wasn't violent. That was just entertainment. "I love it here," Napoleon admitted; the Waffle House was like an endless running cinema, and the people here were so amazingly common. Weak, but Napoleon couldn't hold that against them. He leaned in further, "Tell me you're staying a while."

Was that tidbit of knowledge supposed to change her mind of it? Though, if any of them were to stake ownership upon a place such as this, Napoleon would indeed be the one. "How pleasant," she noted as she eyed the restaurant further. The smell of lycan seemed to be upon everything, and not simply the usual smell of them. Eleanor imagined there was not enough disinfectant in the world to make this place right. But she would hold her tongue further, refrain from damaging the responsibility that Napoleon had taken upon himself. "Darling, if I am up at three in the morning, it is not to watch some drunken lycans duke it out in a restaurant," she cooed, while a hand reached up to rest against her brother's cheek. "Have you been settling in fine?"