Paris, France
Kieran was meandering throughout Paris without care or destination. When she was not assisting her grandfather with Celestial Veil, or otherwise donning the mantle of She Born of His Blood, of Hadara, the young teenager was oftentimes permitted to freely wander the city and the surrounding countryside — once she'd gone as far as Rouen in Normandy just to do so. Kieran did not attend school, and her relationships were practically nonexistent, so she had more than ample free time to do as she pleased. Her allowance was adequate, enough to keep preoccupied, and when it wasn't she had ways of acquiring a supplementary income. When she felt up to the challenge she could entertain passersby with her sleight-of-hand and charisma.
Otherwise she would simply pickpocket tourist. An easy feat considering her abilities.
Unfortunately, seldom was she allowed to go about her day unquestioned or accosted. Was she a runaway? A truant? A delinquent? Most adults had little reason to care, but some — the no-good busybodies especially — felt obligated to confront the teenager who, by all accounts, had done nothing to warrant such an intrusion. This very morning, whilst at the local arcade, she had been detained and questioned by an officer. She was unsupervised and should have been in class. A lie had distracted the man and, when his back was turned, she had simply slipped away without his noticing, disappointed that her fun had been cut short yet finding solace in the fact that the officer had unknowingly paid for her next meal. Emptying the stolen wallet of almost €100, and ignoring the family photograph, she had tossed it unceremoniously into the rubbish bin.
Taking the metro, she finds herself near the Gare de Lyon. Setting out to find a bistro or restaurant, she quickly settles on a small cafe near the station. The decor is rather dark and moody compared to the vibrant sunny day, but the smell of freshly baked pastries is enough to finalize Kieran's decision as she steps through the entrance. The cafe isn't packed despite its proximity to the nearby station and the nearing lunchtime hour. A good place to relax. Ordering several drinks and cakes, Keiran finds herself a secluded spot, stepping past a pale-skinned woman who very much looks the part of tourist (she was on the phone) and a few others who may be locals. The hood of her sweatshirt keeps her face mostly hidden from the other patrons.
Without enough food to feed two or three people, Kieran takes stock of those around her, people-watching as a means of staving off her boredom. Most everyone here looks to be painfully average, save for the pale-skinned woman who, if anything, is different enough from the typical menagerie to draw attention. Keiran looks perhaps a bit too long before switching her focus to her cellphone, cursing slightly underneath her breath in accented French as she accidentally drops the half-empty pack of cigarettes from her pocket.