"How are you so mesmerized by mystical shit," Levi asked, "when you have pink skin and pointed ears?"

Abigail sighed. "Honey," she said in a Staten Island accent, placing her hand on Yylya's shoulder. "I'm afraid the boy's right. This isn't a cosplay convention, though I wish it were. You're a fictional character. But you can still have fun here. Levi and I know your name because you were here before, but..." She glanced to Levi, uncertain, and then back to Yylya. "Well, you don't remember. I took your place."

D'ren butted it, placing his hand on Yylya's back and coaxing her away from the bar. "[i]Young lady,[/i]" grinned The Infamous as he peered into her eyes. "Why don't we go somewhere...else?"

At the mention of "young lady," Levi appeared to have a mild stroke. As he seized and blinked rapidly, he clenched his jaw and fists. Levi lowered his head, his face nearly in his half-finished burrito plate. As he did this, Abigail looked over at him, concerned. 

Before she could ask him what was wrong, her image flickered, as if she were a malfunctioning illusion. As if someone was channel-surfing a holographic TV, Abi's body rapidly changed to about half a dozen other women before landing on a much taller woman with long, golden blond hair, a taut expression of serenity and confidence, and a tan duster that looked like it had just came out of a western.

As drool stringed from his heavily breathing mouth and into his sour cream, Levi gaped at the new Author's Ambassador. "[i]T-Talitha,[/i]" he stammered.

D'ren glanced back at the changed Ambassador and shook his head with a sigh. "Tell your author to piss off."