It's an extremely cold December afternoon, and the girl with an eyepatch is very grateful for the warmth of Starbucks. What she's not very grateful for is the huge queue. Why is there a huge queue?
"Yeah. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if this outfit turned into a pumpkin then. Granted, that would be the least concerning thing about the situation."
"Let's be sure to deliver you back here before midnight, then. Is there anywhere to eat you don't have work associations with?"
"Sure. And I usually tip folks well enough that they don't mind me. And there is nothing more sympathetic than 'my boss is really picky'."
"Then I'm sure you'll be better than me at finding a place where we can talk undisturbed."
"Of course." He leads them to a technically-not-a-hole-in-the-wall that smells delicious. He orders two of "the usual #3" which is literally the official name in the menu.
"Perhaps, but knowledge is power, and so far all I know is that you were kidnapped by fairies, which is not a whole lot more than you know about me."
"I'm not sure what to ask, you seem to be a bit off-script from most people I talk to."
"Yeah, most humans don't have that privilege, who knew? And you look mostly-human and I assume you started completely human?"
"Yes. The, ah," and she taps her eyepatch, "came from a favour." She turns her right palm up, showing a white and black oval scar in the middle of it plus some vein-like scars coming from it up her arm.