Mara Kincaide

( Ben )

( Charlie )

Mara had her office door closed and her computer queued up for a video conference. It wasn't for a few minutes but the technology was notorious for failing at critical moments and she wanted to test it first.

She adjusted the headset and settled in to read a file until the meeting start when she heard music. Frowning, she looked toward the screen, prepared to see a pop-up ad. Instead she was presented with what looked like a video of her life.

So I came home to feel ugly again
Feels better alone, pretty ugly again
If you come back around I may not let you in
Cause I don't understand what this pretty is.

The singer's voice was eerie, edgy. The faces on the screen were people she knew, morphing one into the other, morphing into those she'd known before and all interspersed with scenes of fights, knives, flames. Herself as a child -- before, during and after her surgeries.

Mara watched, intrigued. It fit.

Dear Over-privileged Little Bint--

I'm sorry. Which of those licenses and degrees on my wall led you to believe I am a tattoo artist? If you point it out to me, I'll remove it so quickly your head will spin. Because really, that's the only reason I can think that you would ask me if I could add a purple rabbit "since I will be working on your breasts anyway".

( Chloe )

I have my guesses who sent me these, but I've been surprised before. So whoever you are, thank you.

Ah yes, Valentine's Day. Day of hearts and flowers and chocolate and warm fuzzy-wuzzies.

( Charlie )

( Awares )

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."

Are there any accountants among us? Specifically tax accountants?

( Chloe )

( Jos )

( Ben )

Morfi went ... I don't know if that's even the proper verb to describe it. Anyway, he's not here anymore. I know other daemons are also disappearing. Does anyone know the story they come from? Does their disappearance signify anything?

( Private )