in my heart i can fly.
Hasibe chooses not to accompany Henry to his workplace, though she probably will at some time or another--she is genuinely curious about it, but Huan requires soothing, so she takes the time to settle him in once she's alone at the house. Dog curled up in the washing-room where one of his beds is (he has a few, but that one seems to be his favorite on the main floor), she in turn goes to curl herself up in front of the television, watching "Thelma and Louise," with a second glass of wine. By now she has also lost her jeans but kept her camisole, and is covering her legs up with a blanket, stretched out comfortably. Though she hasn't seen much of this movie before (only bits and pieces, like with most more modern films, if the 1980s approximate modern--she doesn't consider it retro), and it is pretty good, she's really only half-paying attention to it.
Her mind is back on that bar and that little girl with the dead playmate--it wasn't that big a deal, but she could have helped, or tried, and she didn't, she just stood back and watched. This is a personal problem of Hasibe's, she's pretty sure, like a phobia without the fear; she's got to get over her strong aversion what she can do, but for some reason admitting too much just bothers her. It's like it's simply too private, but everyone else manages to be reasonably open, at least in the Nexus. It's not as though she has to take out a banner ad, she knows, but...Hasi gives it up for now and sighs. It's also not something she has to deal with tonight, so she can let it go. She will.
But she wishes she knew what to do about it, all the same.
Huan comes padding out of the washing-room and sprawls down over the rug at her feet. Hasibe drops a hand over the side of the sofa to pet his ears.