"What is that stuff? That you make your - envelope out of?"

"Oh, it's ectoplasm. We can't do anything else with it, the mask is a racial ability thing, but if you're a wizard or a sidhe or something you can turn it into just about anything you like. Couple of weeks ago we got a rain of frogs, that was some high-level ectoplasm weirdness."

"Weird. It definitely counts as a substance and not an object, I can't hear it."

"Huh. Wonder what'd happen if somebody gave you a conjured sword or something, that's all ectoplasm but it's made into an object."

"Well, I can't hear things made with image kamai," she says. "But I don't know enough about ectoplasm to say how that applies."

"So what kind of details can you hear with that, anyway? Can my pants tell you about my sexual history? Do my flannel shirts love me as much as I love them? Is the knife hidden in my left arm traumatized by me stabbing a malk with it?"

"Objects tend not to have much in the way of rich inner lives, and can only tell me things that are strictly about them, not just things they bore witness to," says Leekath. "Sometimes things like people but I'm afraid your shirt's not one of them."

"That's reassuring. This shirt needs replacing anyway, I'd feel bad if it loved me. Actually, who am I kidding, it'd be hilarious. But a world with sentient shirts would be a bit uncomfortable."

"They're not sentient," she says, shaking her head.

"Not really," says Leekath, blinking only briefly at the weird face. Leo's is weirder. "It won't let me out at all."

"That's not going to be a problem, because I don't want to go out any time soon. Unless it lets in Blondie out there, which I wouldn't be thrilled with. What in the everliving fuck is wrong with your face?"

"Do I ask rude questions about your facial deformities?" asks Leo, whose face is inching steadily into place over his actual face.

"Fair enough," says the woman, trotting over to the bar. "Any way a girl could get something strong and preferably with blood in it?"

Sure. First one's free, says a napkin. Do you want my best guess or something specific?

She blinks at the napkin, then shrugs. "Magic bar. Guess, I guess. Surprises are always nice. Unless they've got holy water or something in them, don't make me a holy water sangria."

She sips, makes a very pleased face, and turns to Leekath. "Right in one. Suzanna Richardson, vampire, witch, and apocalypse maven extraordinaire. Currently under heavy pursuit by certain local organizations and looking for a change in work. You?"

"Leekath Hhirheek, vampire, wizard, kama, hearer, parliamentary office worker," says Leekath dryly. "Currently wondering whether I'm going to be late for a meeting."

"Leonardo Cristobal Sangre de Dios Rojas Moreno de la Corazón, vampire of the Red Court and filthy coward, call me Leo," puts in Leo. "Currently antagonizing the good Ms. Hhirheek, mostly by accident, and enjoying a truly excellent cup of blood. Speaking of which, could I get a refill?"

"Vampire interns, huh. Your place of work hiring?"

"Ah, that sucks. What about being a filthy coward, how's the pay on that?"

Leo counts out several rumpled and, in one case, slightly blood-spotted bills onto the countertop. "Whatever you can mug. Which is, you know, decent, considering vampiric cost of living."