Shoving her hands into the back pocket of her jeans, she let the moment stretch to awkwardness. She was finding herself at a distinct disadvantage and did not like it in the slightest. The trouble was she wasn’t getting anything off the woman. The woman in front of her was a demon, there was no denying it. She could see the woman’s true face flickering just beneath the surface and, Lucifer help her, it looked like her own. A stolen meatsuit was one thing. She could explain that in any number of ways. But this woman had her face. Her real face. And that was not something that could be explained away. For the first time, she began to consider the fact that the woman might be telling the truth. Still, she wasn’t going to give that card up for free.
Pointedly turning her attention away, she fished in her pockets until she pulled out a battered looking pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Putting one to her lips, she lit it carefully and took a long drag before looking back at the other woman. She blew a stream of smoke in her direction, though they weren’t close enough for the insult to be as bad as it might have been. Crossing one arm over her chest to support the other as it held the cigarette close to her lips, she sighed audibly. Everything about her posture was defensive, cold, and closed off.
“Come on then. Make a believer of me,” she goaded, a smile on her lips. She didn’t know what she’d do with this information. If this really was her, from a different time, maybe even an alternate time line as clearly seemed to be the case, she wasn’t sure what she would do or say. What did one really say to themselves? Her walls and her defenses were defining aspects of her personality and she knew that. But if she was facing herself, none of those walls would make a damn bit of difference, and the thought of being that vulnerable sent a chill up her spine.