Ale had reached out to Mable personally, not wanting her Ghoul to do it. Well, he could, but she felt like it, so she did.
The Torino pulls up to the Farm at the meeting time agreed upon, Gabriel driving. As the car pulls up, the Savage steps out, muttering something to her ghoul in Italian before he drives off.
Boots crunch on the gravel as she approaches the porch. Tonight she went somewhat casual in black fitted pants, tank top and an orange sweater over it. Her skin, though still pale, had a healthy glow to it, warm with the touch of stolen life. One doesn’t drive around the city looking dead after all.
Mable Wood Psychangel