Shakti slid into the seat towards which the bartender/chef/waiter/mystery-man-of-sorts gestured. She shot him another quick smile; for whatever reason, she found the boy's demeanor vaguely unsettling. Something inside of him was . . . unbalanced. This alienation was a surprise comfort to the young woman. Unnecessary social contact was utterly exhausting to Shakti. She felt immensely relieved that, for once, she wasn't obliged to relate to another human being. Her gaze dropped to her plate. It smelled incredible . . . but did it have any meat in it? Eggs were fine; milk was, too. Cooked animal carcass just made her sick to her stomach -- that's all.
Shakti sipped and started to nibble on her omelet (so far, so good) when she remembered she didn't have any money. "Hey, how much is this going to cost me?" When she looked up, the impish boy was gone; in his place was a dove-winged cephalopod. Trying not to gape, she started looking around for LED lights, strings: smoke and mirrors kind of junk. Finding no sign of trickery, she took a deep breath and thought, 'Okay. So the guy has some kind of pet. . . That's not too freaky.' It took much of her self-control to avert her eyes from the creature and instead stare into her mug of milky, steaming chai. Shakti's mothers always insisted that first impressions, while misleading the vast majority of the time, are usually lasting ones, so if you must come across as anything, do not let it be rude!
In the blink of an eye and a cloud of purple smoke, the Invisible Boy reappeared; the cephalopod was nowhere to be seen. Thinking it was a sort of bar trick that she was not familiar with, Shakti offered a slow, quiet applause.