Ghoul's feathers are less ruffled when he turns his attention back to Party. It's nice to have a common enemy, but the passing man ends up pretty well out of earshot within a few seconds, leaving him alone again with Party and his fussing.

A pelt on- what the fuck?

Ghoul's face looks only about as half as incredulous as he feels. He knows that yeah, sure, vampires and werewolves historically haven't gotten along. He's not so foolish as to think they'd all be best friends here, especially when they have no similar goals to work towards like they had back home, but pelts on walls? That's fucked up.

Then again, Party looks about as reliable as a tabloid. Figures that he'd run in to a doomsday-crier who probably lives in a cardboard box somewhere. He groans at the thought, giving up the fight right then and there. He'll be damned if he's gonna waste time arguing in circles with an overdramatic homeless guy. As soon as Party starts walking, Ghoul turns on his heel and does the same, trudging off in the opposite direction.