It's not that easy to die...
This particular area of Chicago is probably still recovering from the effects of the earthquake, considering it was the worst part of town and not exactly the area that City Hall is going to want to spend an obscene amount of money to fix up, considering it was a dump to begin with.
Despite the destruction surrounding it, there are still a few businesses open, although mostly the area has been populated by junkies and squatters. It's a rough neighborhood and after the plague, it should have been a ghost town, considering how easily it would have been for those same junkies and squatters to get hit by the weight of it. They always come back, however, like cockroaches, maybe fewer in number now, but still there. Chances are the cure hasn't spread this far yet, but the fact that things seem to be looking better have made the depraved crawl back to their holes, merely because the bars are home and being locked away for so long is bound to make them sicker than anything the plague can cook up.
One bar in particular is worthy of note if only because there's a girl being thrown out of it. She's more of a woman, really, but given her size and the relative youthfulness of her face, it's an easy mistake to make. Currently, that same pretty face is screwed up into an expression of utter rage.
Of course. You flirt with a few rich guys who don't want to be seen drinking until they puke in higher establishments, trying to get a place to stay for the night, and automatically, the barkeep assumes you a whore and kicks you out. Not that Sonja Caplan isn't a whore, because she kinda is... Or was, anyway. Just don't call her as much.
She stands on the street for a second before marching back over to the door and preparing to open it in order to give those bastards a piece of her mind, but she freezes when she hears something beside her- a low growl of some kind. She turns her head slowly to see something akin to a large white dog with far too many teeth and no visible eyes to speak of. It might have been a perfectly average stray dog before it wandered through the Rift, but now it's something else entirely.
She stares at it. In theory, it stares back at her and slowly she opens the door to the bar and diverts its attention towards the rukus inside, arching her eyebrow as if to say, "Do you want to eat just me or do you want to sink your teeth in a whole bar full of fat, white trash assholes?" (Well, the bar's hardly full- there's probably all of six people in there, which was probably why her appearance caused so much of a stir. The bartender had time to pay attention, instead of keeping his mind on the bar.)
The monster-dog makes its choice and darts inside and Sonja slams the door shut, placing her hand on the doorhandle and transmuting the lock into something that will keep the door successfully jammed. It stings just a bit and she shakes her hand as she steps away, listening to the screaming for a second.
"You asked for it," she mutters. Nope. She feels no pity for letting that happen.
Ladies and gentleman, we have another mage in the house, and she's not a good witch at all.
Obviously.