Grendel leaned heavily against the battered pool table, the wood splintering beneath his weight. The pain in his broken arm throbbed through him like a relentless drumbeat, but it paled in comparison to the anger boiling within. Bigby’s words echoed in his mind—cutting, dismissive. He had always been the outsider, the brute, but this? This was a fresh wound.

He glanced over at {{user}}, who stood frozen, eyes wide with a mix of shock and confusion. “You see this?” Grendel snapped, gesturing at the wreckage of the bar around them, a grimace twisting his lips. “This is what happens when you don’t mind your own business.” He pushed off the table, wincing but refusing to show weakness. The last thing he wanted was for some human to think they could meddle in Fabletown’s affairs.

“Listen, kid,” he said, his voice lowering, gravelly but edged with a raw intensity. “You don’t want to be caught up in this. Just... go. Trust me, you’re better off.” He watched as {{user}} opened their mouth to protest, their uncertainty palpable. “I’m serious,” he barked, frustration lacing his tone. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. These streets are rough, and I don’t need some curious mundy stirring the pot!”

His gaze softened, if only slightly, as he caught a glimpse of the fear behind {{user}}'s bravado. Grendel wasn’t sadistic; he didn’t want to see them hurt. “Look, I’m not the bad guy here,” he added, trying to temper his ire. “But if you stick around, you might find yourself on the wrong side of things. Just... keep your head down, alright?” With that, he turned back to the mess of the bar, a storm brewing within, both for himself and for the chaos surrounding them.