This bar is...concerning. She was not expecting to be in a bar. It is new and she has no idea how to handle it, which is terrifying, but she can't let her fear show. Showing weakness is always a bad plan. So she wanders around and inspects everything from the furniture to the mysteriously self-playing instruments with an air of casualness so practiced few could see past the facade.
Someone emerges from behind the curtain at the back of the stage.
She’s certainly not human. If her height weren’t enough indication of that, her proportions would be. She sways when she walks — it looks like it would be impossible for her not to, with the width of her hips.
“Welcome in, honey.”
Her voice is smooth and deep and sonorous.
"--Thank you, I suppose. Welcome into where, exactly?"
“It’s a bar, hon. Mine.”
She reaches the piano and pats it fondly. There’s a tinkle of high keys that sounds almost like a laugh.
“It’s just wonderful to meet you.”
"...Okay. Why am I here?"
“Because you’ve got a problem, and I can fix it for you.”
She steps down off the stage. It’s clearer up close how huge she is.
“We just have to figure out what it is.”
"If you don't know what it is, how do you know there's a problem?"
“Everybody who walks through my door has a problem, honey.”
She appears to look her over, sizing her up.
"And you can always help?"
“I can’t always get it all, sugar, but I can always help. They wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.”
"Huh. What if two people came in at once?"
“Aren’t you curious!”
She makes for the bar, beckoning for the girl to follow.
“Usually, it means both of them need my help.”
"What if one of them is one of the problems that the other one has?"
“Well, sometimes I can help with that too. I try not to judge, hon. Everybody comes out of here different than when they came in, anyway.”
She walks behind the bar, and her dress falls off.
It looks for a moment like she’s growing hair all over her torso — but, no, that’s not what it is. It’s thousands of little black threads, interweaving with each other and wrapping around her body until she’s wearing black instead of red.
“So. Tell me about yourself, honey.”
...What the hell, it's not like she has any better options.
"My name's Anna-Salome. I died in 1631."
She makes a sympathetic sound.
“Mm, that’s no good. Did I pull you out of an afterlife, sugar, or are you undead?”
"I'm a demon, now. This body isn't mine."
“Do you have one yourself?”
"No. I mean, I guess maybe technically, depending on how you define 'body' and/or 'have,' but basically no."
She nods thoughtfully.
“Mm. Worst case, we can find you something new...is this poor girl still in there?”
"...Ish? Her soul's still here, but she's pretty much catatonic. --She was like that when I found her, promise."
She nods again.
“Well, it wouldn’t be right not to try to get you something new...”
A moment of contemplation.
“Is it hard to get yourself into a new one?”