you're made of my rib, you're made of my sin
A funny quirk of Hasi's fondness for all things old and (to her mind) elegant is that she has quite the collection of perfume, and you can tell her mood by what she's chosen.
She knows to never apply too much - even if she loves a scent, like the legendary Mitsouko she prefers above all - and she knows that there are some you can never wear in summer, like the Christmas-oriented Carons. She also knows that there are some that make her feel a certain way, whether it's better or simply indulgent of her own moodiness, and there aren't many better than the one she chose for her trip out that evening: L'Heure Bleue, by Guerlain, dating all the way back to 1912, named for the semi-twilight time in Paris. Velvety, mysterious, thick with rose and orchid, and most importantly a little bit melancholy--it's something she's able to keep her mind on when she makes her way, slightly unsteady in her high heeled boots, to a diner just across from the Voltaic's swimming pool.
She has something she wants to do, but as she is, in fact, a little drunk, she knows better than to attempt it just this very second. She's clearly been a bit rained on, and has a red umbrella by her side, paired with a tan rain coat over her dress - it's nothing terrible, but the weather in London this evening wasn't doing any wonders for the aforementioned sense of melancholy, even if she's got good reason for it. Maybe Xanadu's night life will be better. Or maybe she'll just pretend to try to sober up and otherwise be a dissolute hedonistic mess, as she is so skilled at it - her lipstick's still in place, even!
Hasi sits in a booth by one of the windows facing the street, so she can observe passersby, and takes out first her cigarettes, lighting one, and then her tarot cards. She has no idea whether this will be centering, but it will keep her thoughts occupied. And that's not a bad idea right now.