Wanda was- to put it simply- a mess. Pulling out dress after dress from her closet, Wanda had to stop every once in a while to argue with herself. This is a bad idea, her darker side would tell her. It listed everything that could go wrong, everything that was wrong in this place. This is not your Betsy, you are not her Angel. You're barely your own Angel.
Finally she decided on a navy blue piece and a corseted snakeprint sandal. Spinning in front of her mirror she decided that this would be fine for a drink with an old friend. Angel had to tell herself that that was all it was. Her hair fell just below her chin in ringlets, framing her pale skin and blue eyes with a dramatic red lip.
Turning over her trench coat and wing harness in her hand, Angel decided to forgo the things. Her wings needed to stretch and she could get to this place a lot faster if she could fly. Of course, there wasn't a lot of room to fly in the apartment tower but the entertainment towers seemed spacey. Stretching her large dark wings to full span, she turned again in front of the mirror. Every soft feather was in it's place, no sign of the repeated injuries she had had in her life. The only hint of her stint as Death was the fact that her wings were a very dark grey opposed to the amazingly white wings she once had.
Once in open space she took flight, gracefully maneuvering around the pathways and high ceilings as she went. If anyone were to look it it would have been like a winged dancer on display. When she saw the bar, Wanda swooped down and walked in. Immediately as her foot was in the door, she felt something. It wasn't anything she could describe, just a sense of something. Her eyes glanced over the people standing around until they found Elisabeth. Angel gaped.
There was no denying that the sight of Elisabeth in her original body was a surprise. Angel just stared unable to move. She had only seen the non-Kwannon looking Psylocke in photographs. The joke had always been that she had looked better as a blonde.