Tramp Stamps | Lookism

1. Number

Seoul, the one and only capital of South Korea— a metropolis filled to the brim with all sorts of people. With these people comes business, and with business comes money. Managing a business in Seoul is nothing less of profitable, and as long as you know what you're doing, even the shoddiest of businesses could prosper... proven by the one, the only, Tramp Stamps— a trashy little tattoo shop, if the name didn't already say enough.

The fact that this shop manages to break-even every month would've amazed Cleo had she not worked there, but alas, she's a witness to the sketchy things they do to keep the small business afloat. Cough cough, tattooing minors, cough cough. Oh, and cough cough, letting a minor who is not even legally qualified to be an apprentice do tattoos on said minors, cough cough— who's name, by the way, is totally not Cleo Mun.

Overall, within this trashy little business, Cleo was the least qualified in basically everything— not to mention that she's technically working illegally. So, why... why of all people that possible could've been chosen for the task...

"Why do you want me to be the manager, old man?!"

"Good god, kid, quit yelling."

In front of her, behind his desk, was the owner of Tramp Stamps, Mr. Xin Mun— who only spoke in Mandarin out of spite for xenophobia and put a roof over her head when it wasn't his job to; who fed her dry, crunchy Raisin Bran for brunch and shoved a tattooing gun into her hand at way too young of an age. AKA, Cleo's favorite (and only) father figure.

He sat, mildly bothered, long strands of black hanging in front of his droopy optics. He couldn't be bothered to be more than inconvenienced about as much  as he couldn't be bothered to shave the scruff growing on his face like a mold. Maybe a better comparison would be how he refused to throw away his packs of cigarettes, a light always in hand despite how he preaches the dangers of nicotine. (Dumb hypocrite...)

"Explain then, dang Shèng nán*!" She scoffs, still in borderline disbelief, "You can't just lay this on me without saying anything! Why not have one of the senior artists do that instead? Y'know, the qualified people?!"

"Brat, watch your mouth," Xin leans forward and flicks her forehead very hard, before she could even think to dodge, causing her to recoil and cradle the throbbing injury, "Our business has been doing great for the past few years, so it only makes sense that we branch outside of Itaewon, right?"

"But that doesn't—"

"I'm not finished speaking," he flicks her forehead again, ignoring her pained protests.

"Darn it, old man—"

"You brought it up recently that you wanted to start attending school again soon. All of the schools here in Itaewon are either shit or cost a fortune— and it just so happens that I found a place to expand shop to around central Seoul. And guess what? I found a cheap school within walking distance from the new shop! Aren't I the best?" He grins, plastic and humorous and completely aware of his shenanigans— just pretending not to be.

"So what you're saying..." Cleo began, a blank expression on her face, "Is that not only would I have to attend school, but I would also have to manage another one of your crappy shops?"

Xin's lips curled into a cheeky smirk, "Now you're getting it."

With a long, dramatic sigh that couldn't even begin to communicate just how done she was with the overgrown man-child, Cleo palmed her face, "Do I even have a choice?"

"Nope. I already enrolled you."

"You are so lucky I owe you, fugly, greasy Shèng nán..."

~~~