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.
"No. I can leave her for a bit and go back in right now, if you like."
She sits down on the couch and leans back and relaxes every muscle she can and tips her head back and exhales.
A cloud of black smoke billows out of her mouth, leaving the body to go completely limp. The smoke floats over to Honeysuckle, drifts around her head a few times, then returns to the limp body on the couch and pours itself back down the throat.
This is actually a much better outcome than Honey was expecting.
“I think I can make you up something new. But it might be a little...odd for you. Do you have a strong stomach, hon?”
She bursts out laughing.
"You don't have the slightest idea what becoming a demon entails, do you? Yes, I have a strong stomach."
“I don’t at all.”
She starts to fish underneath the counter.
“Any preferences for skin color starting out? I can always change you up later.”
"Uh, white, I guess."
She nods, and retrieves what she was looking for from under the counter, which was apparently a very large clamp lid canning jar.
“Sit tight, hon. I won’t be a minute.”
She leaves the bar from the other side (her clothes stay on this time) and heads through a doorway.
When she returns (in a minute or two, as promised), the jar is half-full of white powder and translucent amber-colored goo.
"Is that cocaine? Because this body is already addicted to that, and I'd rather not go through withdrawal a second time. It's not that big a deal for me but it's still annoying."
“It certainly is not.”
She reaches the bar again, and removes what appears to be a bottle of milk from a nearby refrigerator, pouring some into the mixture. The ingredients ooze together.
“Just bone meal.”
"...Huh. So my new body is going to be some kind of jack-and-the-beanstalk fee fi fo fum honeycake?"
“If you want to put it that way.”
She retrieves a stirring implement and starts to mix everything in the jar.
“You need a substrate to turn smoke into anything with real substance.”
"No, it makes sense. I'm down with being honeycake."
She closes the jar, shakes the whole mixture up a bit, and reopens it.
Then she beckons and points inside.
"Ah, okay, let me just put this down first," she says, and goes back to the couch and lies down and breathes herself out and floats over to the honey jar and inside it.
“Sorry about this part in advance, honey.”
She shuts the jar, and starts shaking it with incredible vigor.
As it shakes, something starts to bond with the smoke. There’s a feeling of incredible heaviness, of density, of something clinging like mud if mud then tried to subsume into your skin.
This isn't exactly comfortable, but she's had worse. It's still new and different enough to be scary, though.
Senses recede until all that’s left is the cold sensation of glass on skin.
There’s a pause, then a thump down(? it’s hard to sense direction) onto something hard and cool.
Sensory deprivation: still uncomfortable, still better than what it could be.
She thinks she knows what's going on, vaguely. She wasn't exactly a baker, in life or since.
There is a distinct feeling of being kneaded. It’s...actually quite pleasant, like a very deep massage.
Things begin to feel less dense and sticky.
That makes sense. Seems like it's going to get awkward when it comes to certain aspects of the detail work, though.
She inhales. It feels--different, somehow.