Ink

Sitting back in what could be described as a barber's chair, Case stayed perfectly still, his right shoulder exposed. A well built man, nick named Ink, worked on Case's upper shoulder. Inside the medium sized store, a simple tattoo parlor existed, the noises of tattooing equipment humming as it worked imprinting designs on various customers. Case cringed a little while Ink worked. The pain wasn't awful but it wasn't fun either. He did endure it, though. After all, he wanted the tattoo and some pain was necessary to fulfill his wishes.

“What kind are they?” Case asked.

Ink stood a little over six feet tall. The man was covered in some of the most beautiful and interesting tattoos. Over his inked body, the man clothed himself in loose clothing. If a person met Ink on the street, most likely the first impression would be avoid him. But, under all the tattoos was a nice guy.

“They're Osiris,” Ink said.