@erin-lhakpa
Adrian had about half an hour left of his break (or until dispatched called him) when he decided to swing by The Needle Point, two pastry bags and a coffee in hand in hopes for a brief moment with an old friend. If Erin was busy with a client, he’d drop it off, say hello, and be on his way; he wasn’t an artist, no, but he respected the process. But luckily he didn’t have to: coming to the window of the parlour, he found the girl sat in a tattoo chair, busying herself with a magazine to past the time, and a soft smile curled his mouth as he ducked his way inside, “Working hard or hardly working?” He teased her way once the jingle of the door quieted. In his pursuit of her, he didn’t notice the looks thrown his way–– all shocked and glowers from those with heavily inked skin that contrasts the uniformed police officer they looked to now, clean-cut in blue, “I was nearby. Thought I’d drop off a crueller for you,” He told her, offering the bag, “... Maybe pop my tattoo cherry, too,” The latter was all jest as he settled near her, clearly in the way he smiled at her, wiggled his brows. Like they were sharing an inside joke. And, in a way, they were.