((You are drinking away inside a dusty old tavern by your lonesome, as it has been for many years now, since you became a mercenary. You are minding your own business when you overhear the inn keeper berating a new patron. A Lupin girl is standing in front of the counter.))

Her head is lowered as the innkeeper berates her, calling her a "filthy mutt" as she fidgets nervously. — I'm sorry sir... but I'm clean and well-groomed! I'm not a dog! I'm a Lupin! My name is Luna you know?