[ It's impossible to sleep in; such is the rub when she's finally in a place where her dreams aren't haunted. For any else too paranoid to sleep easy in such an alien world, Vanessa has been eager to find her pillow each night. Any chance she has to drift away means that she might open her eyes to find herself back in the waking world; back with the Devil. This, she wants.

So rarely is she allowed her desires, though. Each morning, well before six, her eyes are wide open and her hair is already pinned back. The growing volume of her ticking pocket-watch follows her every movement, and she glides as if to match the tempo. The louder it grows, the more her muscles tense and her gaze sharpens, always ready before the clock strikes six. It arrives with a distant shudder and groan from the city beyond, and a tiny, metallic shriek from the pocket-watch in-hand. Each morning, she's dressed and poised, always staring at the door. She waits for the enemy (none appear).

If she stands in anyone's way, frozen and staring at voids of space like a Victorian doll, she's too entranced to notice. Forgive her. Or call her out.

...

Given the time to settle down on her own, however, and Vanessa might find someone nearby to approach with a light step, her smile carefully crafted as they both head for the door. ]

And what are your plans for today's mischief?

[ That's all any of this is, isn't it? Devilment. It's a trial, as if Satan expects her to turn her back because of the risks, and she won't be cowed by it. Instead she'll dance her way back to Satan's waiting arms. How else can she get close enough to cut his throat? ]

[ There's no telling for certain where the Demon hides, but Vanessa thinks he may just be where necromancy claims to dazzle. A jest on my behalf, beloved? something deep and dark hisses. She'll take the bait, but she won't play the game his way. She won't be bedeviled again, as if she could forget what still awaits her beyond this vision. They aren't here, but her family will need her when she frees herself from this hallucination, and for that she'll do anything. Attend a party? She's already dressed for the occasion, although her fashion is subdued compared to many (almost humorless). Steal an invitation? That requires a little more help from another, but somehow she's made it in. ...Pretend to commune with the dead? Buyer beware.

Even if she views this as a hallucination or a psychic visit to the underworld, there's a nagging sense of responsibility when presented with the opportunity to contribute in the best way she can. Money itself doesn't interest her, but proving she's not afraid of Lucifer's ploys is of singular importance. There's also the matter of proving herself useful to this new company... Even if they may very well be Lucifer in disguise, figments of her imagination, or the souls of the dead made manifest. If so, they don't seem to be the type of undead that hunger for her: those that she's been warned are also here. Of course they are, my sweet.

Her 'tricks' are most convincing, but that's because they aren't tricks. While others may be charlatans, Vanessa refuses to be so cruel as to create false ghosts to any who come to her with tears in their eyes and a whimper in their voice. It doesn't make them less the fools, but they are pitiable ones.

Whether the divinations of others nearby are false or real, the danger to Vanessa's soul is ever present. She wants to prove herself, but not to a blinding degree. She refuses to use herself as a vessel and she's careful who she touches, keeping a table always between them and never handing them anything. Some Tarot cards are laid out for them to carefully choose (crudely cut and drawn by Vanessa during the previous night), or even animal bones for those wanting a more immersive experience. Should anyone be drinking tea instead of wine, she may even divine answers for them with the leaves.

Even without using herself as the vessel, the more she carries on her work, the louder the spirit inside cries out to the worlds between. It's desperate to strike through and croon to all the children of the underworld, but never loud enough to invite them in. They keep a distance and speak in the form of a breeze ruffling skirts and hair, or a flickering of the lights. One or two of her clients doesn't need her translation: they convulse before wheezing out the regrets of dead souls that nobody ought to know, and deep in their belly there's a long, drawn out croak that ends only when they run out of breath. Only then does the spirit leave them (by then a few have scattered from nerves). Vanessa is always kind and patient, but never too comforting. Let them scare; they seek that which they aren't prepared for.

She needs no help in creating the illusion of mystique. Her spirits are real, so no matter if someone leaves her table in heartfelt tears or white-knuckled fright, Vanessa has an easy time separating the people from their coin. It isn't something she enjoys, but she's done well to convince herself that nobody here is a 'real' person. They're set pieces, however gently she tries to treat them. All that matters is Serthica, then East, and then vengeance.

The dark humor isn't lost on her; she's undertaking the same deception as Evelyn Poole once did. Her death will be all the more fiercer for the reminder. With the mood Vanessa is in, Satan will end up an afterthought. ]

[ Maybe a night-time scene in their quarters, or maybe shopping, snooping, and exploring? She might even cheer on the gamblers of the group. Surprise me! ]