Tramp Stamps | Lookism

5. Working

(this chapter might be slightly suggestive... not too suggestive, but y'know 😏 i thought we could use a little romance and tension, this is supposed to kinda have romance, after all)

It was a miracle. The posters had actually managed to work. Thanks to the flyers, Cleo had managed to find a few part-timers to take care of the shop when she wasn't there— but most importantly— customers were actually choosing to get tattoos and piercings at Tramp Stamps of all places. Truly, a miracle.

The familiar buzzing of a tattoo gun rattled the ravenette's eardrums as she worked, essentially just white noise to her after hearing it for hours straight. Earlier yesterday, at the crack of dawn, a middle-aged man arrived asking for a tattoo of a crossword puzzle on his entire back, spelling out something dumb about how "real men are breadwinners"— and it wasn't even readable in the picture he showed. She tried explaining that most people would have a stroke trying to read the tattoo, but no, he wanted it exactly like the picture.

Why anyone would want a crossword puzzle of all things tattooed on their back? She didn't know. Why he didn't want his tattoo to be readable? She didn't know that either. But either of those things weren't her problem because this guy was paying full price for a full back tattoo that's been dragged out over the course of two days. Who knew a grown man would have to tap out seven different times because getting his tattoo (incredibly simple tattoo, mind you) hurt too much?

So here she was, day two, first thing in the morning, giving some random guy one of the tackiest tattoos she's ever had to do. (Though, nothing would ever top the belly-button butthole monkey. That one would haunt her dreams for life.) Skipping school for the second day in a row for work kind of sucked, but man, the money was calling Cleo's name. She really needed it, especially with her new companion.

"Woof!"

"Hold on, Destroyer. I'll get you your food in a minute— we're almost done."

"Thank god," the man groaned, voice slightly muffled from being squished against the chair, "If this wasn't the only place to open up early, I would've taken my business somewhere else..." he grumbled.

"Glad to have you as a customer, sir," Cleo remarked,  the sarcasm practically dripping off of her voice, but she kept a steady hand, "Real glad!"

"Better be," he scoffed, "A slut like you would be on the streets right now if it weren't for kind gentlemen like me."

Her eye twitched. Promptly, she shut off the needle. The absence of buzzing made the silence jarring.

"You can pay now," Cleo smiled as her client sat up.

The man scoffed as he sat up, his face turning red from anger, "You think you can just leave my tattoo unfinished and then ask me to pay?! Why, I—"

"Your tattoo is done, sir," she assured, customer-service grin beaming, "I told you we were almost done."

He grumbled, giving the teenager a look before getting up and stomping over to the mirror. Just like she said, the tattoo was finished. Wordlessly, she tossed him his shirt which he fumbled to put back on and held out her hand expectantly.

"Wha—"

"Your payment, sir."

"Impatient bitch," he cursed under his breath, fumbling in his pockets before slapping a decent wad of cash into Cleo's palm, "Here's the money."

Meticulously, she counted out each dollar as the man watched, fuming impatiently.

"...You're short sixty-nine cents."