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Oli (minus the neck tattoos. He doesn't have them yet 😏) (26 years old)
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The mark that taints Kellin Quinn's skin is a bright, crimson color, misshapen, resembling that of an ink blot. It was about six inches in length, branching out like a tree along the bottom of his pale jaw, down his neck, and disappearing underneath the collar of his shirt.
"What the fuck is that on your neck?"
Kellin doesn't even blink at comments like this anymore. He usually covers his mark up with makeup; it's part of his daily ritual. He wakes up, showers, brushes his teeth, and covers his mark. It takes solong, however, caking on the green concealer mixed with the skin tone concealer, making sure the red is generously coated, before he finally goes over it with multiple layers of foundation. It's a long and tedious process to cover up the bright red marks, so much so that sometimes, if he wakes up too late, he has to forgo covering it up in favor of actually eating a meal before taking off for work, and... people stare.
People treat the mated-born as a sideshow attraction. The names of the children born with the mutation are kept under pretty tight lock and key, mostly to keep them all from seeking each other out to "kill each other", and aren't released as public figures until they're already mated away happily, so he enjoys a life of anonymity. Unless, of course, he doesn't cover his mark up.
"Vicious fight with a bear," Kellin replies back blandly, handing the guy his change out of the register without looking him in the eye. "Trust me. He doesn't look as good as I do."
The man just stares at him, or more frankly at his mark, tracing it with his eyes a couple of times, even though there's a line behind him in the mini-mart and he already has his can of soda and his change.
"Oh," He says finally, scrunching his face up in what is easily recognized as disgust. "You're one of them."
Kellin blinks his large, aqua eyes at the man, cocking his head to the side like a puppy, feigning innocence. "One of who?"
