"Don't bite!"
A totally owning the costumes squeak slipped out before it was all just a sticky trap. Ice blue eyes blinked at the odd sensation of faux blood smearing on cheeks before closing. That's right. Jack's the eyes closed type.
"Ummmm." The mop swiveled, looking for a waitress. Spotted a pair that looked... vaugely... like familiar mammals, and waved. "Hey, is that? I think that's Tuesday . And Fisher ." Then waved again at a waitress. "I saw Faye and Camper Van Beethoven, too."
"Right, the balcony? Let's see." Did Ma-Ma hold hands? She did now. "Okay. That guy?" He pointed at an imposing bouncer type doing sentry duty on the stairs. "I totally know him. Sort of. Pretty sure he works at B Street Theatre, too. And I've done magic shows there. Okay, maybe just one show. He'll probably, oh, hey."
There's the waitress. Get a drink, yo. And another for an bloody Angel technomancer.
"Is there something on my face? It feels like stuff got on my face."