Misha pays scant attention to the faint struggle inside her stomach as her erstwhile meal learns the ticket price for a one on one concert; acids gush in and smother the woman as powerful muscles knead her mercilessly, sparing no energy to break her down as quickly as possible. The harpy stays in her room for a few minutes, waiting for the pleasant struggles to subside with a half-distracted and half-content air, and once they do her stomach soon assumes the featureless roundness that marks a meal that's gone from a person to a mostly-homogenous soup. Misha pats it a few times distractedly, finishing writing a little in her diary, before stowing it in her back and slowly waddling downstairs. She peers around in the dim light, keeping her wings mostly forward and around her like a second cloak to help conceal her belly. Linda's the first one she sees, and the others with her soon after- she pads over and slumps into a chair with only a slight creak. "Sorry I was delayed, but I didn't want anything to seem too wrong while I was down here in public. Has everyone checked in?"