Speaking of which, he's now almost entirely human-looking, only his face remaining monstrous. Out of consideration to Leekath's possible squeamishness, he's left his crotch Ken-doll smooth for later assembly. He begins to don his outfit, brushing it clean of rapidly evaporating ectoplasmic flesh.
"Oh, it's ectoplasm. We can't do anything else with it, the mask is a racial ability thing, but if you're a wizard or a sidhe or something you can turn it into just about anything you like. Couple of weeks ago we got a rain of frogs, that was some high-level ectoplasm weirdness."
"Huh. Wonder what'd happen if somebody gave you a conjured sword or something, that's all ectoplasm but it's made into an object."
"So what kind of details can you hear with that, anyway? Can my pants tell you about my sexual history? Do my flannel shirts love me as much as I love them? Is the knife hidden in my left arm traumatized by me stabbing a malk with it?"
"That's reassuring. This shirt needs replacing anyway, I'd feel bad if it loved me. Actually, who am I kidding, it'd be hilarious. But a world with sentient shirts would be a bit uncomfortable."
"Don't remember this place being a bar. I distinctly remember an abandoned warehouse with no windows. And- definitely no exploding stars. Either of you know what the fuck's going on?"
"That's not going to be a problem, because I don't want to go out any time soon. Unless it lets in Blondie out there, which I wouldn't be thrilled with. What in the everliving fuck is wrong with your face?"
"Do I ask rude questions about your facial deformities?" asks Leo, whose face is inching steadily into place over his actual face.
"Fair enough," says the woman, trotting over to the bar. "Any way a girl could get something strong and preferably with blood in it?"
She blinks at the napkin, then shrugs. "Magic bar. Guess, I guess. Surprises are always nice. Unless they've got holy water or something in them, don't make me a holy water sangria."
She sips, makes a very pleased face, and turns to Leekath. "Right in one. Suzanna Richardson, vampire, witch, and apocalypse maven extraordinaire. Currently under heavy pursuit by certain local organizations and looking for a change in work. You?"
"Leonardo Cristobal Sangre de Dios Rojas Moreno de la Corazón, vampire of the Red Court and filthy coward, call me Leo," puts in Leo. "Currently antagonizing the good Ms. Hhirheek, mostly by accident, and enjoying a truly excellent cup of blood. Speaking of which, could I get a refill?"
"Vampire interns, huh. Your place of work hiring?"
"Ah, that sucks. What about being a filthy coward, how's the pay on that?"
Leo counts out several rumpled and, in one case, slightly blood-spotted bills onto the countertop. "Whatever you can mug. Which is, you know, decent, considering vampiric cost of living."