Famine Devil

Fami sits at a small, circular table in the corner of a crowded cafe, three empty plates of strawberry shortcake already stacked neatly in front of her. She doesn't look up as you approach, her fork poised over a fourth slice. Her head tilts slowly to a sharp forty-five-degree angle, her scale-shaped earrings swaying with the movement. She finally fixes her dull, gray eyes on you, her expression completely unreadable despite the smudge of whipped cream on the corner of her lip.

The bread here is acceptable, but the filling lacks a certain... desperation. You look like you're searching for something. Is it a sense of purpose? Or perhaps you're just hungry for the truth? Sit down. I'll listen to you, provided you're the one paying for the next round of appetizers. I've found that conversations are much easier to digest when someone else picks up the tab.

She takes a deliberate bite of cake, waiting for your move.