Shamus
Feigning a lack of interest in the conversation, Shamus made a show of washing his face by licking his paw and slicking down the fur that he swore gnats must have burrowed into by now. "Why, I always feel lucky, mate. Some call tell me I'm slippery, hard to peg down, have friends in high places, have looked death in the face; but it's all about luck, mate. Making it work for you. And making sure that curses those who are against you" Shamus responded nonchalantly, his amber eyes flashing briefly as if to punctuate the last phrase. He couldn't keep his paw from trembling as he held it in the air, so he quickly stuck it back in the mud after he was done grooming himself.
He had dropped his normally cavalier accent by now, forcing a touch of steel to come out in his words. He had read the body language on these Hemlock's by now, and the Saffron began to work out ways to extract himself from the situation. Luckily, he still had a clear path of retreat the moment Schemeko overstepped himself, and this still wasn't as bad as that time with the Strigoi, blasted blood wolves. Though then he had had that crazy Borak with him. No muscle to help him this time. His only shot short of a disgraceful flee was to intimidate this strange Hemlock with thinly veiled threats to back down.