Who: Marissa/Aoife and Calista
When: Round about six
Where: Open mic night at a snazzy coffee house
Aoife leaned against a support beam, her head slightly tilted to avoid the bulletin board full of colorful announcements of film festivals, charity runs, and offers of guitar lessons. This wasn't the sort of place she was really used to. In her day, and until very recently, really, she'd been under the impression that supernaturals mainly clung to the edges of society, having some innate decency to tell them they didn't belong with the real people. And as most of her jobs had been geared toward ridding people of problem cases, weres who'd decided they rather liked being monsters and suchlike, she'd been able to maintain that illusion right up until May 1st. She was still getting used to the idea that her targets might well be hiding anywhere within polite society.
She'd gotten good at using Marissa's assets in seedy bars, truck stops, and run-down Podunk towns, but she was still getting used to the different tricks that'd help her ingratiate herself in a more
civilized crowd. Seh was still flaunting cleavage, but she'd toned down her makeup a lot, spending the better part of half an hour just staring in the mirror, comparing her face with vague impressions of a different sort of girl. Aoife had no native social graces, but she'd learned to be a chameleon, and Marissa's pretty face made life even easier.
So now she was sipping a chai latte rather than a Budweiser, gazing out over the crowd. From what she'd learned of this part of the city, half the people here might be witches or worse. She kept her stolen face open and cheery though, listening politely to the girl on stage reading her poetry. It didn't rhyme, which always confused Aoife. What was the point? Her forehead creased slightly in mild puzzlement, then smoothed out again as she reminded herself she really didn't care.