Bigby's not sure if the staring is because he's a talking wolf, or because of his size, but either way, he's used to it. Like, a lot. "Thanks," he says dryly. If he was a more sarcastic person, he might add something dumb like 'I grew it myself.' Sadly, he's not.

"Don't suppose you got that from a bar around here," he says, with a pointed look toward the spot the hip flask is currently stashed. "I could use one of those about now."