"They don't shut up much."

The werewolf and I were sitting around a small table, enjoying the quiet, peacefully drinking our corpse-fertilized hot tea in the early morning coolness outside. It was the second time I had visited their tea shop. I was drinking Constance; he had a cup of Wilmer.
He looked in my direction with his gaze unfocused. A clear giveaway. Then he stiffened. "DUDE."
"Yes, what?"
"Are you aware of all of...that...following you around?" Eyes wider; vague gesture around me.
"Oh, certainly. Hard to miss them. They don't shut up much."
"You cursed or something?"
"Oh, no, no, nothing like that. Apparently my soul smells sweet to them."
"Your soul smells...sweet..."
"According to some of their more well-spoken representatives. It seems I'm rather pleasant to them. Taste, smell, touch, sight, sound, whatever other senses that bunch has."
"You sleep okay with that whole court there?"
"Oh, yes, they quiet down when it's bed time. I have them well-trained now."
"You train them? Like pets?"
"Just so. The carrot and stick combo works better with them than with people. These guys don't have free will, you know. People do."
"Or think they do."
"Just so, friend. Just so."
It was good tea. I will visit here more often. Maybe they could benefit from some investment, too.