It could be worse; we could be dead.

Towards fall, Phoenix was always warm.. because, well, it was literally warm all the time. There was very nearly never a period when the evening air dipped beneath seventy-five degrees, and despite the wind that always seemed to blow across the desert floor, one never needed a jacket, sweater, or even a proper pair of jeans. To a member of the living dead, weather was mostly irrelevant anyway. Gabriel still wore a thin leather casing over a tank top, loose jeans, and heavy boots when she was on her own stomping grounds. She was sometimes concerned that this may represent some kind of secrecy breach, although the simple act of an unnaturally cold handshake would reveal her better than an extra layer of clothing--this reason being the one that she normally avoided handshakes upon the successful completion of a deal. 

The thought that she may be unnaturally cold did strike an anxious chord with her; she didn't necessarily care to be discreet about her condition in most settings, not when it came down to the minute details like matching her clothes with the eternal summer that was Arizona. She did enjoy a certain amount of subtlety aside from this, however, and the fact that she wasn't even room temperature was enough to make her uncomfortable. Subtlety was all that had kept kindred alive thus far, a fact which she stressed when the young blood in the neighborhood decided to make a scene for no God damn reason. There was never an excuse for being sloppy, not when it was so easy to sell or rid one's self of a body to the various other lifeforms who happened to eat whole parts, or use them as a small piece for a larger effigy. It wasn't hard to get out of this kind of situation, or any other, when one calmed down to think about the resources available here as apposed to so few other places where one had so much at their immediate disposal.

This train of thought emphasized the dependence of the dead on their fellows, and with appropriate timing, considering Gabriel was waiting to meet with a close friend and contact of hers. The meeting place was absolutely not her favorite; a hole in the wall diner, tiles hospital green, booths faded brown. They were open twenty-four-seven, and reminded her that she could neither eat food nor enjoy a stale cup of coffee. It was empty aside from the tired, irritable waitress and the scraggly fry cook--and so served it's purpose in this way. This was a business discussion, after all, not a dinner date.

The waitress approached after a long time set in silence broken only by the radio, making her way to the only occupied table in the restaurant while loudly chewing her gum as though it were the cud of a cow, stopping with a slouch at the deceptively young-looking woman's table. How absolutely rude of Gabriel to have made her work for her meager five dollars per hour.

"What can I getcha?"

"Water."

"Anything else?"

"Not right now. I'm waiting on someone."

The waitress looked less than pleased to know someone else was coming in this late at night. To be fair, she had probably seen her share of shady clientele in her likely extended time working for this charming one-star dive. 

"I'll bring another place setting," she said curtly, turning on her heel and walking back toward the kitchen.

"Thank you," Gabriel said after her, feeling a little offput by the fact that she'd done so little to ruffle the waitress's feathers so greatly. It was also very likely that she was already miserable before having to wait on a woman who wanted nothing from her but water. Ochre-colored eyes studied the woman's back as she went about angrily getting together two glasses of water and another set of silverware. She wished she hadn't shown up so early; this place was even more uncomfortable now.