It had been such a waste of coffee back at the diner, she thinks as she drives to the hotel.
Depressing really.
But she was focused on the task at hand.
They had a keycard, with a room number. And it could only go a couple of ways.
The woman who cast the vulgar magic was in the room and ready to fight. Bad.
She wasn’t in and they got to poke around in the room with someone as lookout. Not too bad.
She had already moved on. Better.
The GTO was parked and the Shaman gets out, walking into the lobby. Blue eyes look around, wasn’t the grossest she’d seen, but not the nicest.
Shrugging, she walks up beside Campy,
“Hey.” She greets, hands shoved into her leather jacket. Did they have a story yet?
Monthly RITS, cell on silent, dedicated magic tool on wrist.