Alastair does not lift his eyes to the waiter that appears, focused squarely upon the woman in front of him.

"You do not know the first thing about me, woman. Do not presume to speak as if you do," he replies, still dry as the desert. "Even if there were truth to your words, these people know nothing of you, and nothing of me. What makes you so certain you will be taken at your word?"

He remains perfectly still and stoic, save for the annoyed pinch in his brows that makes his forehead look large. She had said it herself, after all -- he had spent many years lying to a great number of people. Not even his own sister had known what he was.

"You think me a savage beast, incapable of controlling what I might bite, despite the knowledge that tells you the very opposite. There is not a soul in this city that would believe you."

Unless they too already had preconceived notions of lycans. That is not so hard for him to believe -- but the idea of just rolling over for a new master, particularly one who intends to make his life miserable, does not particularly appeal.