I sat in the cafe and waited for my drink, my hands clenched beneath the table.
Deep breaths, I thought, my training taking over. That's what you do in these situations. Deep breaths.
The shirt I wore was a vibrant shade of yellow, as were the bowler hat and the rims of my sunglasses. When people looked at me, they saw those first. Sometimes that was all they saw.
The barista called out my order. I went to retrieve it.
Couldn't these people tell how nervous I was? They looked at me, me and my yellow. Couldn't they tell?
"Here's your drink," she said with a smile. "Low-fat mocha."
"Extra whip?" I peered over the top of the glasses.
I smiled and put a five into the tip jar. "Thanks," we both said at the same time. I went back to my spot and breathed a little easier.
I'd thought they'd been wrong in training when they said it was all in the props. Pick out good enough accessories, and that's all these people would see.
Nobody here noticed that I hadn't gotten the hang of using only two arms, or that my eyes didn't quite focus correctly when I spoke to them. I absently felt my elbow, half expecting to find that the scales had grown back. Instead I felt the slightly rough, but still relatively soft, patch of skin.
I finished my drink and trashed the container by the exit. I held the door open for some girls on their way in. They smiled at me, I smiled back, wondering if my new teeth looked authentic enough. Apparently, they were.
I left the cafe.
Trial run complete. Infiltration successful.