who: @therediegogoes Polly's; sometime before the gala, late night.
Briar sits, cross-legged, across from the counter, eyeballing the boy behind the sales counter with a discerning eye as she regales Diego with stories of the shift she's just ended. "T'was a passing boring evening, nothing more than usual; much talk of this great big party coming up, though what that all means I do not know or care."
Then, with aplomb, she stuffs taco, halfway into her mouth, and takes it off as if she's not eaten anything in months. Truth be told, she's just riding a wave of mellow energy left over from one of dear Chamomile's famous favors. What better way to follow magical medicine than with magical food? "And what of it here? Tell me of the fussocks, I do love to hear a good scratching."
