Roses and Ink|Cricky

1|Across the Road

Ricky's POV:

I sat quietly in my booth, sketching out the outline of a snowflake for a client that was supposed to come in later today. I never quite thought I would end up doing tattoos for a career, but then again, I never really thought I'd end up doing anything for a career. Life is funny sometimes. The greatest things happen when you least expect it, it seems.

The parlor was small, but it was roomy at the same time. I work with two other artists daily, who are both pretty close friends of mine. We're like a family here. Nobody gets left behind. Ryan Ashley was the one who offered me the job, saying I had potential. I remember her saying that I was talented, and that I needed to put my talent to use. She let me practice with her tattoo gun, which later became my own. She's definitely a big inspiration to me.

Angelo, he's pretty quiet for the most part, but I love him all the same as I do Ryan. He works more on cartoon type pieces while Ryan Ashley focuses on realistic, black and white works. I like I think my tattoo style is a combination of the two. Although he doesn't talk much in public, once you're alone with Angelo, he'll talk until you can't stand to hear his voice. I like that about him. He's smart, thinks before he speaks, too.

"Hey, Ricky?" Angelo's voice broke me out of the little trance I was in, just focused on my sketch. I looked up at him, head tilted a bit. "Ryan and I were thinking of going out to the diner for an early lunch. She wanted me to ask you if you wanted to join us,"

I thought about it for a few moments. "Uh, sure. You guys go ahead, I'll catch up with you in fifteen. Save me a seat." I replied with a small smile, receiving one back from Angelo. He left my booth after that, presumably to go with Ryan.

I sighed softly as I looked down at my sketch. Snowflakes weren't quite my thing, but I was proud of how it was coming out. The girl I'm tattooing comes in at five, and I still have a decent six hours until then. It's always good to plan ahead.

I reached back and pulled my black hair out of its messy bun, allowing it to fall back down to my shoulders. I looked in the mirror I kept by my chair, combing it out with my fingers to neaten it up a bit. I wouldn't say I was sexy or anything, because I don't want to he known for having an ego, but I'm pretty happy with how I look for the most part. Pale skin, blue eyes, thin and pierced lips. Tattoos littered my arms, the word 'hopeless' tattooed over my knuckles. I didn't see myself as hopeless anymore. I have money, a home, a car, friends and food. I'm living my life to the best I can, as long as I can, because who knows? My life could change at the drop of the dime. Maybe it could even end. You never know.

The tattoo parlor was located in a small part of town in Scranton, across the street from a flower shop, and down the road from the diner. Angelo, Ryan Ashley and I go there at least two or three times a week for lunch, whether we bring it back to the shop or eat there. I've been working at Cryptic Ink for a little over a year now, and I can't complain. It's good money, and I'm doing what I love-art.

I slipped on my jacket before standing up from my rolling chair, pushing it back up against the small desk I kept in my booth. Magazine clippings of guitars and posters of bands covered the cubical, one wall full of just tattoos that I've done over the year. I had a shelf of ink in the corner, along with a small basket of pillows and plushies. Sometimes clients will bring in their kids, and I figured it'd give them something to do. Most of the time, my clients need something to hold onto while I tattoo them since some can't handle pain very well. I do piercings, too, but I don't encourage anyone to hold onto anything but someone's hand when getting a needle through their skin.

I grabbed my keys on the way out, making sure to shut off the lights and turn the sign in the front window to 'closed'. I locked the front door before putting my keys in my jacket pocket and turning to start the walk to the diner. I glanced to my left and saw the flower shop, the guy who owns it setting up a display outside the window. I'm pretty sure his name was Craig, or some shit like that. I'd only talked to him once or twice, and I suck with names.

He was tall, always wore black, and was covered in tattoos like Ryan Ashley was. He didn't have any on his face, but he did draw his eyebrows on. His hair was short and black, and he was actually pretty cute. I thought it was interesting how a six foot tall goth dude owned and ran a flower shop.

I stopped looking when I realized he caught me staring, waving at me from across the road. I smiled and waved back, then began to walk.