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.
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.
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.
“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.
"No, I'd rather still be able to do the thing." She demonstrates the thing, blinking: her eyes are black all the way through when she opens them. She blinks again, and her eyes have gone back to normal. "Glowing irises seem like they could have...unwanted side effects."
The danish is slightly warm and the pastry is flaky.
The next time she blinks, there’s an odd sticking sensation that makes it difficult to open her eyes. Once they do open, her irises are a bright, reflective silver, like liquid mercury, with golden overtones that show up especially where they catch the light.
Her single most overriding desire is to be safe.
A close second, and one that she isn't aware of, is to have people in her life who she can trust to defend her, if she ever isn't safe.
She likes her creature comforts. She isn't the type to go for conspicuous consumption for the sake of it, but given the choice, she'll always take the coziest blanket, the softest pillow, the plushest, most devouring armchair, the pastry with the most frosting drizzled on it.
Sexually speaking, she's a strong but not obligate submissive, and something of a xenophile.
Isn't this interesting.
Safety, that's something she can help her with – trusting other people, that might take a while, but there might be a good match for her...little pleasures are easy to get, here...
And this is a good place to be, for xenophiles.
"Maybe I should introduce you to some of my other clients, angel..."