The shop itself was well lit and almost inviting. Near the checkout counter laid a great dane who looked up rather sleepily at the pink haired lady who walked in, letting out a huff of a halfhearted woof. The dog's owner was already working on another customer in the back; she was about thirty years old and tattooed and pierced to the point of absurdity, but she did good work. And the owner was relatively easy to spot. The short, dark-haired, scruffy man with hair that looked like it needed a trim looked up from the magazine he was reading, while sprawled out on the loveseat near the entrance looked up at Stephanie and gave a lopsided smile. "Oh hey, you must be Stephanie. How's it goin'?" He stood and offered his hand, "I'm Artan. I hope you don't mind that I took some time and gathered up a bunch of examples. Different fonts we could work with, stuff like that. Come have a seat."
He guided her to a chair and took a seat nearby, offering her the few pages worth of number 11s in all different styles and fonts, in simple outlines, just to give an example of the font, not suggesting color at all.
He may be the first person here that didn't comment on her hair. He was used to all varieties of color, so he stayed quiet. He simply assumed it was dyed.