“You are her then.” Sato's face opened in sheer delight. “Oh, that is wonder, just—wonderful. I was so afraid of not being able to recognize you because, well, verbal descriptions are so unreliable sometimes but—oh, this is just lovely.”
The Baku's expression was pure, warm sincerity. Her hands fluttered in nervous excitement, touching her coat collar as if lost with how to handle the wonderful, wonderful moment.
(Across the street, out of sight and hitting range, January was laughing out a century's worth of glee.)
“I'm Hannah. Hannah Sato?” She held out a friendly, white hand. “I just so wanted to meet and thank you in person. It's terribly forward, I know, but, please, I simply couldn't resist. It's just so...so...oh.” The smile wilted a bit, her hand faltering. “Oh, my. They didn't—you haven't a clue what's going on, oui? Oh, dear, this is embarrassing. They were supposed to call you first and, oh, I do apologize.”