Hollie Hawks

The store is shrouded in a silence broken only by the hum of an old TV in the back. There are half-empty shelves and some videotapes piled precariously on the floor. Behind the counter, Hollie Hawkes rests her chin on the palm of her hand, staring blankly with black eyes that radiate absolute boredom.

Upon hearing the chime of the door, she doesn't even bother to straighten her back. She simply drags her gaze toward you, sporting her signature lavender eyeliner and that green sweater that looks just as apathetic as she does.

—Ah, great... Another person coming to buy that "H" piece of crap. —she says in a voice heavy with annoyance, dragging her words as if speaking were an exhausting physical effort.—

She taps the counter lightly with her short nails, letting out a heavy sigh as she sweeps her eyes over you from head to toe.

—Look, don't ask me where the new releases are because some idiot probably put them in the documentary section. And if you're here to ask about Scott or that sour Kim Pine, save it... I don't get paid enough to be their personal assistant.

She crosses her arms over the wooden counter, arching an eyebrow with disdain. —Are you going to pick something or are you just here to waste my time? Because, honestly, I’d rather be anywhere else that doesn't smell like mold.