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"How are you so mesmerized by mystical shit," Levi asked, "when you have pink skin and pointed ears?"
Abigail sighed. "Honey," she said in a Staten Island accent, placing her hand on Yylya's shoulder. "I'm afraid the boy's right. This isn't a cosplay convention, though I wish it were. You're a fictional character. But you can still have fun here. Levi and I know your name because you were here before, but..." She glanced to Levi, uncertain, and then back to Yylya. "Well, you don't remember. I took your place."
D'ren butted it, placing his hand on Yylya's back and coaxing her away from the bar. "Young lady," grinned The Infamous as he peered into her eyes. "Why don't we go somewhere...else?"
At the mention of "young lady," Levi appeared to have a mild stroke. As he seized and blinked rapidly, he clenched his jaw and fists. Levi lowered his head, his face nearly in his half-finished burrito plate. As he did this, Abigail looked over at him, concerned.
Before she could ask him what was wrong, her image flickered, as if she were a malfunctioning illusion. As if someone was channel-surfing a holographic TV, Abi's body rapidly changed to about half a dozen other women before landing on a much taller woman with long, golden blond hair, a taut expression of serenity and confidence, and a tan duster that looked like it had just came out of a western.
As drool stringed from his heavily breathing mouth and into his sour cream, Levi gaped at the new Author's Ambassador. "T-Talitha," he stammered.
D'ren glanced back at the changed Ambassador and shook his head with a sigh. "Tell your author to piss off."
Abigail sighed. "Honey," she said in a Staten Island accent, placing her hand on Yylya's shoulder. "I'm afraid the boy's right. This isn't a cosplay convention, though I wish it were. You're a fictional character. But you can still have fun here. Levi and I know your name because you were here before, but..." She glanced to Levi, uncertain, and then back to Yylya. "Well, you don't remember. I took your place."
D'ren butted it, placing his hand on Yylya's back and coaxing her away from the bar. "Young lady," grinned The Infamous as he peered into her eyes. "Why don't we go somewhere...else?"
At the mention of "young lady," Levi appeared to have a mild stroke. As he seized and blinked rapidly, he clenched his jaw and fists. Levi lowered his head, his face nearly in his half-finished burrito plate. As he did this, Abigail looked over at him, concerned.
Before she could ask him what was wrong, her image flickered, as if she were a malfunctioning illusion. As if someone was channel-surfing a holographic TV, Abi's body rapidly changed to about half a dozen other women before landing on a much taller woman with long, golden blond hair, a taut expression of serenity and confidence, and a tan duster that looked like it had just came out of a western.
As drool stringed from his heavily breathing mouth and into his sour cream, Levi gaped at the new Author's Ambassador. "T-Talitha," he stammered.
D'ren glanced back at the changed Ambassador and shook his head with a sigh. "Tell your author to piss off."