In this scene from the opening of Wulf, the hero, Wulf Gabriel, has popped into Batchelors, a bar/restaurant owned by his friends, Trink and Yvan. But when he told them what was going on, they suggested talking to Luc Saint-Cyr, who is an investor in their restaurant. Wulf flips out and tries to walk away, leaving Trink and Yvan confused and concerned.
Let Us Help
"Wulf." Trink and Yvan both leaned against the front of the desk to face him. "Let us help you, Bro. We can call the Man. I know he's got the power. Hell, he owns everything on Kelthia and half of Tarth. This whole district owes him."
"Thanks, guys, but there's got to be another way." He dusted off his pants. "I should go." When he stood, Trink took hold of his arm.
"What is it, Wulf? What you not tawkin', huh? Me and Yvan." He gestured among them. "You know we got your back. You can tell us anything."
"Thanks, Trink." He situated himself so he wasn't being touched, hopefully smoothly enough not to offend. "Don't want to talk about it."
Yvan started to speak.
"Guys." Wulf held up both hands. "I appreciate the advice and the offer to help, but the last thing I want is to involve Luc Saint-Cyr. The Harbinger, the Man, whatever you want to call him. If I'd known you'd suggest anything that had to do with him, I never would've come here. No offense." He ducked around Yvan.
Blocking him, Yvan leaned a hand against the door, then swung around and leaned against it, arms folded.
Wulf sighed. "Don't do this, Yvan."
"Doin' nothing, Bro. Jes standin'. Whyn't you talk to Trink?"
"Yeah, Bro." Trink spread both hands. "Let us help."
Pressing his lips together, Wulf concentrated on breathing through his nose, focusing on a dark spot on the wall.
"Listen, Wulf," Trink dropped his street voice. "If you let that asshole fuck you like this you'll kick yourself for it."
He closed his eyes, jaw clenching. "Back off, Trink."
"People always say that to me, Wulf, but truth is I can't. I'm your friend. Friends help friends."
Wulf leveled his gaze on the man's face. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll handle it."
Yvan tilted his head. "We're trying to help you."
"Thank you. Really. Thank you." Wulf tucked his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans. "Now back off and let me out of here."
Yvan stared into his eyes for a long moment, not blinking any more than Wulf. "After you tell me one thing."
Wulf ground his teeth together. "What?"
"Why you so dead set against the Man's help?"
"His help?" Wulf pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "I would rather die than ask that fucker's help."
You'd have thought he'd blasphemed. Trink crossed himself and Yvan slid aside like he expected a lightning strike.
"You think I'm crazy? How's this? If Luc Saint-Cyr was on fire, I wouldn't cross the street to piss on him."
Their mouths dropped open.
"You want to know why I hate, loathe, and detest Luc Saint-Cyr? When I was ten years old"— Wulf slammed one fist into the other "—he made me watch my father die."