During the months that the lion has called this city his temporary home, he knows that he has come across others of his own race. If anything, it seemed as though every being the were has encountered save for those he accepted odd jobs from have also been were. It was not something that he was quite used to, more accustomed to living among the human race than any other, coming across few like himself and yet somehow it seems that here, they were not as rare to find as his past would suggest them to be. He could not say that he has come across a fae before, nor a vampire, witch or warlock, though it was entirely possible that he might have passed one by on the streets of Sacrosanct. What he had been quick to discover about this place was that magic was alive in the very air, despite the pungent stench of asphalt and cold, unfeeling steel or the sometimes almost deafening sounds of vehicles blaring their horns at one another or simply the roar of a thousand engines all condensed in a space where sound easily resonated. As such, it was very likely that he might not have detected the electricity of magic from a man or woman who looked as human as Roman did when he walked through the churning crowd of unknown faces going about their day to day routine with little to no concern for what was going in around them, his senses not always able to focus themselves on days where he seemed particularly sensitive to the concrete jungle which surrounded him. It does not surprise him as much as it has when first he had arrived, but still it was something which left the lion wondering just how many of this city's populous was of the otherworldly. Then again, such a thought was the most fleeting for the man for it was not something that hardly bothered him. For Roman, the species of the individual paled greatly in light of the heart and soul resting there behind those windows to the soul. It had always been about who someone was rather than what they might be which was of the more concerning observation beyond all else. Just as with humans, there were good and bad beings within each and every race, the lion even daring to consider dark hunters to be just as varied from one to the next as his own kind where many both of his species and not seemed adamant on viewing them as the ones to be most wary of.

Wickedness did not discriminate against any one race or part of the world. It would take root in any heart that would harbor it, whether one was fae or vampire, witch or were, human or dark hunter. Corruption would touch all that it could, tainting once good and warm hearts left broken and abandoned only to take and turn them against the world they'd once loved. There was no denying that a heart rested within every being - even if it was not beating - and it was this which made it far too easy for the darkness and cruelty of reality, of the world that was ever-changing as the years came and went, to seep into the cracks and breaks leaving wounded souls so vulnerable to such demons. Yes, there were criminals and killers, many they claimed not to have a heart at all just as there were those saints and gentle spirits which very much acted like beacons in the dark, their light of hope and love shining so brightly it could illuminate even the most shadowed and cold of places if given the chance. These were the most clear definitions of the good and the bad in the world, but what some might not take the time to see is that there was dark hunters who would not hesitate to stop and help another supernatural, not all of them hell-bent on eliminating the other races, just as there were witches and warlocks that used their magic intuitive to perhaps try and create remedies and things to heal rather than harm, or weres and vampires that hunted only wildlife and sought to befriend their human counterparts instead of seeing them as mere prey. And so, did it truly matter if he'd noticed a man with unusually pale skin wandering nearly empty streets during those hours when the sun was done and the night descended upon the earth, or perhaps if the petite and friendly waitress who waited on him within one of the many small diners adorned those delicately pointed ears? No. He was not the judge of who should live or who should perish, nor was he to serve as the watcher of the other races as the dark hunters were bred to be more often than not. So long as a heart was kind and lacked ill intent, Roman would readily return such gestures just as he would not hesitate to defend himself or others from those consumed by wickedness, seeking to harm or steal - were or otherwise.

As the lion regards the sabled tigress for a moment, golden-hazel eyes studying the sleekness of her fur and the way that she displays her own teeth as a show of strength should she decide to use them, he cannot help but wonder where it was her heart lies. He is fairly certain that she could have easily used unsheathed claws to rip into his pelt already baring scars of past sparring with his siblings when things got a little more wild and reckless than anticipated, but she hadn't, and it was for lack of any true expression that allows for his rush of instinctual defensiveness to fall away from Roman. The lion does not miss the hardened look she gives him in response to his reaction, but he was not sorry for it either. The animal in him was driven to survive, those primal instincts to show aggression towards any potential threat buried deeply within every thick and powerful muscle. That, and it was certainly the first time any has dared to "attack" the lion in such a way unless they knew him, and he did not know any within Sacrosanct that well. Although, perhaps it might be due to having met any thus far who matched him in size and strength, her height standing a little taller than his own and yet she was lithe where he was broad and built with thick, heavy muscle made to bring down just about any animal on the african plains when hunting in an efficient pride. Standing squared to the tigress, tufted tail continued to lash every now and again as he watches her entire frame shift from calm to rigid when his thundering baritones reach for her, he can easily read the way those amethyst eyes seeme pierce his that do not waver. There is a tension that falls from her sable fur and he almost expects her to leap at him yet again, but instead she simply shakes herself. Something had agitated her, and he hadn't the slightest idea as to what. Until her voice ushers a familiar name. Raven. Near instantly, the lion wonders how it was the tigress knew the unusually marked lupine whom he'd stumbled across not far from here at all, where by now there was likely to be little remaining from the two dark hunters who'd ensnared the she-wolf in their clear intent to harm. Needless to say, Roman had dispatched them quickly and without mercy, leaving their lifeless bodies to rot there within the depth of the forest.

She moves away from him at first before suddenly stalking closer, the lion keeping his gaze locked upon the female in a way that was both curious and careful, still attempting to decipher her words and intentions."Raven is a friend of mine", he answers truthfully, remembering well her kindness and grateful demeanor. She had been the first of his kind that he'd met here within the city, and there had been something about the she-wolf which reminded Roman so much of his younger sister, Dea. It had been an unexpected thing, that connection he'd felt only to be accompanied by a protectiveness over the she-wolf, but she had a pack that would keep her safe. She didn't need Roman. No one did. As she moves the length of his own frame, Roman remains still despite the touch of her long tail as it brushes against his forearm though his senses are alert, blackened ears hidden almost entirely by his thick, golden mane flicking at the sound of her chuffs, the feline gesture of a greeting that has the lion easing some of the tension within his own frame, offering her in turn a deep and low puff. Turning his massive head to face her as she makes her way at a slightly further distance, missing the annoyed expression she'd given her own tail, he is silent for a moment."Are you friends with Raven as well?", he asks the tigress then, finding himself wondering if he should be concerned that she knew the kind lupine or not. It would not be the first time someone has had the name of someone Roman cared for, and being the protective creature that he was, the lion was not about to disclose much more without knowing more in return. Though he and Raven were not what one would call close friends, that did not mean that Roman did not care about what might happen to her. Who knows, perhaps the tigress somehow had ties to the dark hunters that has been chasing Raven, the she-wolf having been unsure as to why it was they'd been after her or even what she had been doing that night, alone and without the safety of her pack that so many weres found comfort in. And so, unless he knew just why it was the tigress knew Raven's name, he stands there attentively, waiting for the unpredictable and expecting anything to happen next. Naturally, he would rather not find himself in a fight with her, but the lion was far from afraid to defend himself should he need to.

Roman royce

EVERY SECOND COUNTS BECAUSE THERE'S NO SECOND TRY