“Aye…always long as ah’ can remember…the Ancient’s fascinate me…Anubis, is the Egyptian god of the dead an’ the underworld…” The hitman nods sheepishly with a false grin, still keeping things ever vague. Most people well read, were interested in things of the past, a time so distant from the present, also he’d found that most people who wandered consistently into tattoo parlors wanted intricate designs, that he hopes she won’t suspect anything else. He couldn’t afford any hint or exposure into what he did for a living, what it meant for him and to him, not yet anyway and regardless of the kind eyes she possessed. “Ah um…can talk aye…not very long but aye…must say ah’am much obliged tae ye grantin’ me this service…” He sighs deeply, maintaining that fraudulent smile, sliding through saloon doors and following in suit, passed the whirl of electric needles; a sound he was desperately used to. Talking to the girl, despite her kindness and her warmth, is the last thing he wants to do, but in order to uphold his image, it’s a a most obvious must. He had to pretend to be the eager patron; the happy client and abide by her invitation, or else she’d ask the wrong questions and things would come to be more problematic than they had to be. “Just water if ye hauve, hotter than it need be outside…ye been doin’ this awhile?” He asks, attempting to be as sociable as possible; a rather difficult feat.
Hattie waited for him to follow through the small, black partition doors to the couch and coffee table inside the shop part of the store. A long, bohemian couch plopped in front of a table that appeared to be a stack of three rather large books on top of one another. Black leather spines and purple and silver foil boast the name of the shop and the founding date where there should be titles. Everything’s meticulously maintained. Even the mini fridge on top of a countertop with coffee, pastries and drinks shines in the light. It’s her shop and hers alone. Everything has such a level of pride in it that it’s maintained to a glistening degree down to the polish on the plating. A water’s offered to him before her fingers twitch towards the couch for him to get comfy. she picks up her tablet off the table before flopping down rather unceremoniously onto a large two or three person bean bag chair near his seat. Short but lean legs tuck underneath her and she pulls out the pen from the case and wriggles it in her fingers giving the drawing a look as she sets it off to the side.
“I’ve been doing this unofficially since I was seventeen and a guy who owned a shop upstate where I grew up let me hold his machine and do a few lines on his arm. Officially, though? About eight years. If you count studying while I was in college and sneaking in some practice where I was lucky enough to apprentice thanks to some patient as hell guy about seven blocks down the road from here. He’s retired but did a lot of my work. And there’s no reason for you to thank me for doing this. It’s going to be an amazing piece to work on. I’m just thankful you came here.” Tossing him a glance and a warm smile, she settles in to chatting as she draws. “So.. Do you study more than Egyptian religion and history? Any others that draw you towards them? Or has it always been Egypt that lures you in the most?”