[log] since you walked right into my life and interrupted the flow

[knowhowitfeels]

So this is how it always goes: something happens to Gates, and then she happens to someone else. Typically, it doesn't start very interesting, just with the mail. Letter (Da), postcard (Katie!), bill (ugh), bill (ugh), chain letter (what the fuck), promotions (pass), newspaper (pass), magazine subscription (when did she get that?), and...a package

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[oleanderknife]

Hasibe tends to not have people happen to her so much as she absorbs them, wholesale, the way someone who was born with a certain preternatural hunger and fire does. Between them, they will probably not even leave bones in their wake. She's alone in the tattoo parlor, since it's usually empty, comfortably occupying a sofa in a little black dress, seamed stockings, and cherry-red pumps, which are kicking the air lightly owing to how Hasi is actually stretched out nonchalantly on her stomach, a book of some of the local artists' work open in front of her.

She doesn't do flash art, but they're nice examples of the style.

Her hand is balanced in her chin, and she glances up when she hears someone come in, smiling already. (Dear Hasibe: what if it's someone who works there? And who is wondering what the hell you're doing poking through everything? Oh, well, it's not like she'll care.)

[knowhowitfeels]

Would you look at that - not only is there someone present, it's someone Gates knows! ...or has met once, which in her opinion qualifies. It ought to, for how many people's lives she's irrevocably changed in a matter of hours - Hasi is not one of those, probably not going to be, but the point remains. (They will end worlds.)

Her eyes are a little red, but she'd thoroughly cleaned herself up before she left and double-checked in the bathroom downstairs before she came up here, so she is footloose and fancy free as she greets: "Hello, again! Do you know, I'm not sure if I got your name last time?"

[oleanderknife]

Hasibe seems to prefer a direct-to-video medium. Although arguably that's not...really a good kind of change, it's certainly broad-ranging, and apparently her star is rising, somewhat without her permission or inclination. (She's supposed to get an agent, soon, to heighten her million-dollar influence and solidify her name brand, which she finds a little bit funny and very tedious.)

"Hasibe," she provides, sunnily, "I think politesse got lost in the discussion of business and its myriad drawbacks. Were you looking for something?"

[knowhowitfeels]

"It does that, doesn't it? But - yes, a tattooist, actually! The usual bloke here is sort of afraid of me, mysteriously enough. I think I'm charming." Really, who could ever think otherwise? (Many people, probably.)

Since they seem to be alone - at least for now - Gates boosts herself up onto the reception desk with her purse in her lap, flipflops hanging loosely off the bottom of her feet. Business does not seem to be the present order of her day, although as conversation topics go it's one that's very difficult to exhaust and they may well end up there anyway. "What about you? Waiting? Browsing?"