She loved the sound of loud music, even in this shithole of a city - in this era full of questionable tastes that bordered on repulsive and exciting. But one thing that always remained a constant was music, no matter how it sounded she could find a rhythm in its chaos. Even now, cutting through a crowd with her hands full. It may have been strategic to dance around the others to avoid a lot of things but it was still downright fun.
And even better, it led her to where she wanted to go.
Bless a mortal’s confidence (or arrogance? She could not yet say) for an open door policy. Hardly anyone batted an eye at her wandering across the club and to the office of the man she had traveled so far for.
There’s no knock, no announcement to her presence as she entered - just the sound of glass and metal dropping onto his desk, a familiar purple liquid dribbling out from the broken syringes. A red stained hand turned over then, having released the contents she had been carrying.
“These have really been messing up mortals, or so I’ve heard.” Mortem lifted her other hand to reveal those same syringes, full and unbroken. One lining four of her fingers as she aimed them directly at her arm and stabbed them in without so much as a moments hesitation. Unflinching as she injected all the liquid and then dropped the now empty syringes onto his desk with the others.
“I have yet to see how but I suspect that it’s due to how... impure this magic feels.” Her arms dropped to her sides, body swaying her weight to one side as she gazed upon him - a burning curiosity that did not answer if she meant harm or not. Nor did the thin smile that curled upon her lips help any; its nature something knowing and vague at once, something shy of feral.