Chicago. Downtown...
It was almost a war zone these days, but the city refused to accept it because the violence didn't occur in the broad daylight on the streets, but it was very prevalent. The warring gangs of werewolves, witches, werebears, and gobs had been raging for as long as the town had been around. Some even blame the fire of 1871 on them...
John Smith had just gotten into town. He had no identity, hence the name, but right now, he was needing money. He was a changeling. He could use any face, any body (or body parts that he needed), or any personality he needed to get what he needed. He had been using that to get his ear to the ground to find out what the leaders of these warring factions were doing. Now, it was time for his play.
Stepping up to the doors of the building, he would give a soft knock, a rhythm that was told to him by another patron. A sliding window would open, "What?"
"Tavern seems to be full of ale," he stated a rehearsed line, "Be a shame for no one to drink it..."
With that the door's window would shut, the door would open and he would be allowed access. The floor almost bounced from the sound of music below.