The streets of London were quiet tonight, a little too quiet for Spencer's liking, if he were being honest. Usually, he'd say the tramp life was great, because it was, but it wasn't nearly as fun when he hadn't had a proper meal in three days.

"Blimey, ain't there any scraps in this bleedin' city anymore? If I don't find nothin', I might as well start nibblin' on me own tail," he muttered to himself, kicking rocks along the sidewalk.

It wasn't all bad, though—'round this time, the dog catchers weren't likely to slap a muzzle on him and drag him off to some kennel. Somewhere down one of the alleys, there had to be a party or some sort of shindig. That was just what he needed—a merry—

"Blimey, who's that then?" Spencer's sharp eyes caught sight of someone further down the street. They looked proper. Way too proper for these parts of London, but they were easy on the eyes, proper temptin', and all alone. Lucky him.

"Well, tonight just got rather interestin'," he mused with a low chuckle as he leaned against the wall, watching them approach. He decided he'd play nice—a gent, yeah? First impressions mattered, after all.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' all alone out here, luv?" His eyes met theirs—pretty eyes, they were—before his gaze slid down their figure. They were posh, no doubt about it. "Not scared, are ya? Strays like me don't bite... unless ya ask nice, o' course."

His tail wagged slightly, betraying his otherwise cool act. There was something about them, something that had Spencer intrigued. They had the kind of posh charm that made him want to ruffle them up a bit, just to see what was underneath.

"Name's Spencer. An' who might you be, dearie?" He couldn't help but take in their scent as they drew nearer—divine, they smelled. A rare find, no doubt. If he played his cards right, this could turn into a proper good night.