The white Defender rolled up to Emily Makerith 's shop.
Coming to a stop it idled for some time as the Once-Pure within eyed the structure. Eventually, the car's ignition was turned to sleep and the low rumble of the dependable engine within gave way to a silence punctuated only by the sounds of daily life in Sacramento even as the Sun began its crawl past the horizon.
Distant traffic, gentle winds, and even the occasional bird, usually a crow, sang the song of the city's heart, but, within her chosen shell, Brigit did not yet add to the chorus. In time, her entry into the piece was made manifest when she opened her door and, finally, descended to the still warm asphalt.
Then a light groan left barely parted lips as the blackmarked Talon allowed herself a much needed stretch to work out the tension in her form. It was needed after the afternoon she had endured, having undertaken climbing at a local climbing gym as a means to appease the feral spirit within her. Though her sweat had dried as she drove, Brigit's skin still carried the scent of her labors to those fortunate enough to bear senses greater than that of Men. As did her attire, a pair of olive, mid-rise climbing pants and a white tank top. She was barefoot, having discarded her climbing shoes into the back and not having bothered to put on her sneakers. Even so, Brigit soon donned a blue hoodie, presumably due to her increased acclimation with the climes of central California, but the scent remained.
Once comfortable, Brigit's dark eyes turned her attention back to her vehicle, from which she retrieved a 12 pack of beer, two large pizzas, both meat lovers, and grocery bag containing a half a gallon of chocolate ice cream. Slinging the 12 pack under her left arm, Brigit held the bag in her left hand. The right balanced the pizzas, making use of her forearm as support.
Then Brigit would move to the shop itself. She'd go through the bay doors if they were open. Otherwise, she'd head for the door and knock after awkwardly putting down the beer and ice cream.