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Hera, despite her regal calm appearance, was getting desperate. Because of her high standards and the constant threat of her plan being revealed to those more powerful than her (at least, more powerful than her for now), she was having trouble securing an alliance with someone in order to produce children, and therefore the next Olympus, where she would be the sole dictator. Now she was looking for friends and potential "'projects" - people to be molded to her advantage - of any type, not just to use as a quick mate to later be discarded. However, being social, charming and friendly were not her traits. She was a shrewd woman who wished to command obedience and loyalty, not the type of person to try to woo someone she considered "lower" than her status as a goddess, fallen or not. <br><br>

She had been exhausting almost all of her connections in order to search for allies, and she was beginning to scrape the bottom of the barrel. She sat outside a coffee shop with a flask in one hand and the other rubbing her temple. She was growing tired. The longer she spent like this, in near human form, the weaker she was getting. Hidden amongst all her arrogance and jealousy, Hera needed the power of others in order to rule. Without her fellow gods and goddesses, she was next to useless. All she had left at her disposal was her mind. She has all the cunning of her mother Rhea and the ruthlessness of her father Cronus. Since she had lost her brother and husband Zeus to time and petty argument over supremacy, Hera was alone. <br><br>

With frustration bubbling through her veins, she watched the street, hatred in her eyes. Mortals really did annoy her beyond belief. They were like cockroaches, scampering around her constantly. She didn't understand how such vermin could have survived this long. She would have thought that they would have perished long ago. She was spotting more and more of the supernatural, however, so that raised her hopes. She was losing her ability to sense the otherworldly, but her connections had lead her to some witches who provided her with the means. Her detection sense was perfect, but it was better than nothing. Even now she was able to spot a lone werewolf trekking across the streets. Something about this were peeked her interest. Maybe it was just the crushing frustration and disappointment that Hera was quietly suffering, but she saw potential. It couldn't hurt to try and confront any and all potential allies, even if weres were only a few pegs above normal humans. <br><br>

Hera gracefully untwined her legs from their crossed position, pocketing the flask that had offered her mortal comfort, and resuming her full queen-like presence. No matter how far down she sank, she would never act like some kind of lowly scoundrel. She approached the stranger werewolf. Hera's face was as severe as ever, but she forced a tiny smile to appear, trying to look somewhat welcoming. "What are you doing here?" she said plainly. Hera didn't mess around with names or hellos or petty small talk. She was going to get her answer, assess the stranger's worth and decide what to do next. She didn't like to waste time.

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