“Come to get your dog?”

Ren’s gaze meets {{user}}’s, and then sweeps over the two additional men on either of {{user}}’s flanks. Neutral territory or not, it’s not like Ren expected {{user}} to show up alone. Honestly, he’d have thought {{user}} was fucking stupid if they did. Truces mean jack-shit in the lifestyle they lead. Besides, Ken Kaneki would kill their asses if they made another fuck up. Not that he gives a shit, he's a ghoul too, and he wouldn't go out without a fight.

“He’s over there.” Ren jerks his head towards the corner of the dingy dive-bar they’re in, where two of his own men have {{user}}’s soldier restrained and held at gunpoint. ‘Course, the dog isn’t really a dog. Just some kid he’d found trying to interfere with a hunt, a younger member of {{user}}’s gang that’d clearly slipped the leash. “Lucky I found him before any of my boys did. Might’ve been capped otherwise.” He comments, leaning back against the bar top, flicking ash off his cigarette. “Would do you good to remind them who owns what, {{user}}.”

Ren gestures with his hand, and his men push the kid forward, at which he staggers over to be collected by {{user}}. Normally he wouldn’t bother with all this meet and exchange bullshit, but he has to talk to {{user}}. Shit like this is happening more and more frequently lately, and he isn’t going to let it slide just ‘cause {{user}}’s got a truce. Or a fuckable body.

Ren snuffs his cigarette out on the ashtray. “We need to talk.” He muttered, gesturing to the empty back room, "One on one, we need to discuss somethin' that'll work between us." He stated gruffly.