"Alright, so. Off to Hawthorne to see the sights and get tested?"

"Oh, is it a walk-in thing? I guess we may as well visit."

Marianne's not used to going out in her free time, work being as tiring as it is.

(She spends a few moments disassembling that habit like a watch, then runs it over in a car.)

"Yeah, it says so on their site." She turns her laptop to show it.

"Help me with the makeup."

"Your wish is my command."

She fetches out the foundation and mascara. "The lipstick back, please?"

She stretches leisurely.

"Sorry, it's on the floor somewhere."

Lily rolls her eyes, gets up from the kitchen table, and goes and fetches it. She sets the resulting makeup kit on the table and leans in. 

"Hold still, please."

She is actively still: forcing herself not to rock or sway or bounce.

This seems like a good opportunity to close her eyes and inspect the console room that has become of her skull. She shuts her eyes, her fingers whiten with tightness around her wand, and she frolics around the interior of her soul.

And Lily applies her makeup, making sure to get all the exposed skin. It looks a little weird; the underlying blue tone is hard to compensate for. But it passes much better than bare skin.

She fetches her coat and shoes.

"I'll trust you to navigate the portal network for us."

"Alright. Should I do your hands too or will you just keep them in your pockets?"

She grabs her phone and keys, puts on her sunglasses, and gets on her own shoes.

She is not a fan of uneven aesthetics, but also doesn't want to sit around for ten more seconds. In her pockets they go.

And off to the bus stop.

Lily still has Marianne's wallet on her, so money won't be a problem.

And look who's waiting at the bus stop.

"Hey. Headed downtown?"

"Apparently! I'm not in charge of directions. I'm curious where you're headed but it's still not my business."

"Downtown." And out to Hawthorne from there, she telepaths. Hawthorne will have jobs for me. Standing-contract succubi are discriminated against less there.

Right, where is the telepathy construct. Marianne Belor sifts around in her soul.

Hi! Gosh, this school runs a lot. Hihihi.

The channel doesn't permit the expression of swelling happiness and affection, so she uses her face.

Cythera smiles briefly and looks out across the street. The sun is just beginning to dye the sky pink. "Nice sunrise," she says.

Incidentally, your girlfriend doesn't have to worry about the sun; it'll inhibit her use of mana but won't set her on fire or anything.

She fixes a look on Lily. "I hear solar power makes the systems less efficient."

The bus is two minutes late. She climbs on after Lily, hands in pockets and face impassive.

"Personally I'd rather go green anyway." 

She looks over at the pink-tinted sky. "Speaking of solar power, did we forget to bring sunscreen?"

"I don't think we need it."

"Alright."

The bus bumps on towards downtown.

She rides the bus patiently, grateful that she has one of those big continuous coat pockets that can fit a whole stick. Partway through the ride, she manages to wrap her head around another of the wells.

It has a basic application. There are many things you can do with the tool, but this is the most natural one. It has but one word, one underlying concept, and one possible function. She pours a trickle of mana into the spiritual construct, concentrating as though trying to fill a teacup to its exact brim — and pokes Cytherea with her wand.

"Identify."