With a mild sigh, Devika took another sip of her chocolate caramel decaf latte, looking around the Witch's Brew coffeehouse as she adjusted her silver pince-nez. She could recognize the usual crowd, and it was a busy night for the place. The regulars were dyed and pierced and tatted, punk and grunge, the outliers of society. Even Devika herself had a small jewelry collection worn on her person. A gold bangle on her wrist, 5 rings with different stones on her opposite hand. She had two pairs of earrings, one set simple bronze hoops, the other a set of tiny globes that seemed to be filled with a miniature, flickering candlelight. Her black, frizzy curls ran wild down her back, barely restrained by a headband. The rest of her clothing could be called 'eclectic' at best, and her heavyset, curvy body shape certainly wasn't the current style either. She fit in here, in a 'crazy starving artist' sort of way. 

 Leaning back in the worn, old leather easy chair, she settled her body and shut her ginger-brown eyes, feeling out the places with her other senses. The air was heavy with the scent of roasted beans, with lighter undertones of wood smoke and flavored tobacco. There was someone messing with the piano on the side of the old stage, and someone else doing some pretty decent guitar licks on the opposite side. 

She took a few slow, deep breaths, and let her magical sense do some reading. The general feel in the house today was one of geniality. Most everyone was on the positive side of things. There was an argument going on at one of the tables nearest to her, though. Judging by the pitch of voices and the vibrancy of the emotions in the air, it seemed to be a couple. A woman, berating her man for some perceived slight. A faint smirk came to her full lips, revealing a dimple. Some women were so silly, thinking their man had to be some paragon of perfection, or some kind of mind reader. Even though having a mind-reading man would be ever so slightly more common in this coffeehouse than anywhere else in LA, she still didn't understand it. 

At this point in her life, she'd be happy for any brand of man who knew how to treat a woman right. She was 27, without a steady job, and (if she was to be completely honest) rather lonely. While she wasn't looking for a husband, she did want someone she could share things with. A lot of things: her hopes, her dreams, her magic, even her body. Not necessarily in that order. Some days she'd be happy to get the last on the list, if anything at all. Oh well. Maybe someday. 

With a distant sigh, she started to toy with the thick golden bangle around her right wrist, feeling the warm metal against her skin and the power embedded within it. Some days she wished she could really just be her whole self. Devika Jones, wizard, woman, writer, and... wishing.