Mimi jumped as the man wearing a black tuxedo walked in front of her. She watched him warily. Three years on the street made her wary of suddenly appearing men. Especially ones in tuxedos...they were usually pimps. However...his accent made her not think him a pimp. Yet she was still cautious. Seeing the back of his room. Quizzical expression crossing her face. Holding onto the paper still. Golden ticket? Her lucky day? What was going on? She blinked as he suddenly became the waiter. Looking at the table with food and drinks. Walking to the table hesitantly. The food smelled really good but what if it was just a trick? An illusion created by her beyond starving mind?<br/><br/>However when he changed into the chef she was worried she was seeing things. Though she was certain he had just been the waiter and before that the host. SHe looked at him with curious expression. "Why do you keep changing who you are?" She asked softly. Her voice gentle and kind but curious. "Mimi." She said. Leaving out her last name. There was no point in telling too much information when she knew nothing about him. She was so starving because until she had money she went without eating. She wouldn't eat from the trash and she refused to steal. "It smells good." She said softly. Wanting to touch it but unsure she could really eat it.<br/><br/>"Am I really allowed to eat this yummy smelling food? I haven't anything to pay with." She said. Frowning...she couldn't afford a meal like this. The last of her money went into that phone call. The food was making her stomach make light growling sounds. Her hand went to her stomach. Willing it to be quiet but it protested when food was so near. Yet she wasn't certain she could really eat it. Having been tricked by food once before made her wary. She looked at the guy instead of the food. Studying him. He wasn't staying who he really was. However, if she looked closely enough she could tell he was only a couple of years older than him. A bit out there but still not that much older than her.<br/><br/>Oh this was starting to stress her out. Her fingertips twitched. That urge was coming back. The horrible urge she had trouble fighting all the time. The urge to feel rational pain versus the irrational pain she felt from stress. She shook her head. No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She shouldn't. Yet the urge to do so was strong. She focused on the food again. She needed something new to focus on. It smelled good. It looked good. That little urge kept bugging her at the back of her mind but she blocked it out. Looking at the guy again. She wondered who he was. "Who are you? Or rather...who do you claim you are chef?"