[ Closed - Last night ]
Mara didn't shy away from danger; in fact, she often sought it out. She knew why. She understood Mazikeen's need and her motivations now. And with another seven approaching, her own need to let out pent-up energy before she had to face whatever the city was going to throw at them only grew.

She hadn't been to this bar before, she'd chosen it for exactly that reason. She was confident she could handle whatever happened.

She was wrong.

It was only when she was panting, pressing herself into the shadows of the alleyway, hard stone digging against her palms as she tried to merge with the wall, that she realized something else was different. Her skin didn't feel like her skin. Her height was off somehow.

She slowly reached up and took down her hair. Dirty blond. Frowning, she took a chance and leaned out slowly to use a puddle as mirror. She was not herself. She didn't look like herself. She looked like a 30-something cocktail waitress who smoked several packs a day and hadn't had a decent meal in a week.

Mara heard the voices of the two angry men approaching and ducked back into the shadows. Thinking quickly, she stripped off her t-shirt and turned it inside out to hide the design. She pulled her hair forward, tied her jacket at her waist and hunched her shoulders as she shoved her hands in her pockets.

Dejected, defeated. Hard life. Wanting no trouble.

She took a breath, closed her eyes and stepped out of the alley, flicking her hand back as if getting rid of a cigarette. She walked toward the men, not even looking up as they continued past her without a second glance. Not looking at the guns they held loosely, or the cruels twist of their mouths.

Nothing to do with them. Nothing to see here.

She turned the corner as they began to grumble to themselves, as they swore they'd find "that dark-haired bitch" and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank god for Tampa."