EVERYONE WANTS A DOUBLE FEATURE, sophia

Ever since her floormate had announced the date for their holiday shopping, Sophia had made a note to start collecting a little pocket change from her hit list. Not that it was difficult, since food costs were easily discounted from her budget. If anything, Sophia had managed to put together a tidy sum from all the meatsacks who had thrown money at her in exchange for their lives - a request that was easily granted. Because she had no powers in memory manipulation, Sophia would arrange for the traumatized humans to become a part of another coven member’s herd. What they chose to do with them was the other’s business, but she was usually rewarded by the shepherd. In many ways, Sophia feels that there is some similarity to her career and that of Vivienne’s.

And like any great career women, they must be dressed to kill. Maybe more literally than most intend, but the point remains. Her wardrobe must be both comfortable to wear and durable enough to survive a few bloodbaths. Sophia isn’t as vulnerable to the cold in comparison to sleeper girls, but dressing out of season is an easy way to stick out like a sore thumb. Especially in such a fashion-conscious city. She had learned this the hard way when she had attempted to sneak her knives under her jacket...in the middle of June. Sophia has not made the same mistake since then.

Tonight, Sophia takes a taxicab. Tonight, Sophia Rosenberg is just another girl in the multicolored crowd. Coats in every color surround her, and she doesn’t stand out too much in her pastel-pink overcoat. The thought brings her some peace, albeit on fleeting hopes. The cab finally stops in front of a bonanza of light and color. Sophia climbs out of the cab - she should have guessed Vivienne’s extravagant tastes. She spots the weretiger in question by the door and makes her way over. Sophia manages an “Evening”, the word dry and foreign on her lips. Keeping her secrecy and her silence for so long could only be taxing on her social skills, but she makes an effort, at least.

Two years ago, Sophia had approached her bounty hunter neighbor with a plastic tub of roast chicken and the intention of being left alone. It seems that something had gotten lost in translation. Not that Sophia gave her floormate much to translate. The gift had been a sign of goodwill, not an invitation into her life.

Sophia never noticed when she also started accepting Vivienne’s invitations. She only knows that being here with the weretiger doesn’t feel wrong. If it ever does...well, they will have to cross that bridge when they get there. Maybe she’s getting lax in her pursuit of living, but Sophia is tired of running. She thinks that it would be good to reclaim some semblance of normality that Ordo Dracul had denied her all those years ago. Standing here with the closest that she will get to a friend is normal. Shopping for goods with currency, rather than secrets and whispered promises, is normal. Pretending that they are only human is normal.

Sophia nods silently at Vivienne’s words, indiscriminately agreeing with all of them. Sometimes people don’t get that. She doesn’t mean to be rude - sometimes, she forgets to speak. Sometimes, she forgets that she has any right to speak. Words are not her first instinct.

(sometimes, she wishes that they were)

When Sophia enters the store, the first thing that she checks out is not the merchandise, as diverse of a selection as it is. She watches for the exit routes and scans for any shady characters that she can instantly identify on sight. For now, she is satisfied, but Sophia doesn’t intend to completely drop her guard in this crowd. Shopping is both her afterthought and her facade.