It was less for her to make or lose money on this race. There was little someone could do to entice her into putting enough toward the pot to even scrape at her bank. After all, her vault doors were built with the bones and ill deeds of her life. It was a chance to get an eye, so to speak, on the underground. She came and went, after all, from this society and her own. And it was always with these events, the ones that were laced with the greed and edge of underground work, that brought her two lives together. One, the mourning but rich widow of someone with more money than most duchies in England (after all, those estates were not cheap to uphold) and the timeless body of a fae-less creature. It was in this underbelly, which paraded itself as better than those street car races held on old runways and drags of abandoned highways, that she saw people bleed from one world into the next. It was easier for those who were blessed or touched by some magic to perform in these races. Heightened senses. Faster reflexes. The unnatural was what brought her to these. An eye out for those who would be beneficial to side with. And for that reason, Jamilla had her stepdaughter assist her into a lovely gown of silver on charcoal with a mask she believed one of her husbands brought her from Italy.
There was a lot of nothing while she mingled. On her arm was a young man her step-granddaughter knew well. She had spied him as a snake while “getting ready” the day before and deemed him acceptable. High and prominent cheek bones, an elegant nose, and someone who was heighted just right, so her heels did not make her taller than him, but not so he looked lankly and gangly. With an arm around his, she switched between flashes of precognition and sensing the movement around her. He was told she was blind, after all. Not that this was entirely false. Jamilla could not see in the way most were used to. But with his contact and the nonstop jostling in the crowd and the vaguely magical wares people purchased either purposefully or not, she had as good of the room as she could. But it was one young form who caught her attention. Her shape was outlined bright and clear. Her movements were almost as if she were the negative of a silhouette, but there was a shape emanating from her form she could not quite focus on, not with her date leading her around. Yet, every time she stopped, Jamilla turned her head to the woman and watched. She peered at her baldly. She had little shame in it. If the woman were offended, her date would have no issue explaining that she was merely blind and looking generally in her direction. If she did not mind, well that would make interactions easier.
It was only after she noticed the ears and thick tufts around the head and neck area that she narrowed this… woman to a were or perhaps a fae such as a kitsune and gave a slight push of suggestion for her date to approach the woman. Using her precognition, she guided them through the crowd with her min tracking this form. As she got closer the abstract lanes and movement of energy swirling made out her form and movement clearly. She put her hand on her date’s shoulder as he introduced himself as Pietro. Jamilla offered a bright smile and pulled her energy from Pietro to get a feel for the woman in front of her as she reached out her hand in the direction she knew Pietro was facing.
“And I am Jamilla,” she added with her deep, accented tone.