Jameson was meticulously organizing his collection of inks when Tonto strolled in, casually and without haste, as usual. His eyes followed the older man as he seemed to wander aimlessly around the shop, making his rounds and asking the same rhetorical questions he posited to Jameson on a regular basis. A small groan escaped through clenched teeth as Tonto reminded him that walk-ins were his responsibility. “Not much different from every other day, right?” he called back playfully, shaking the tension from his shoulders and refocusing on the mahogany shelf on the wall filled with brightly colored ink bottles. Truthfully, Jameson didn't mind the walk-ins. Most of the customers around Long Street wanted the same thing: either bold and crisp American traditional or horror-themed black and gray. Skulls, reapers, violence and death. Anything intimidating and masculine was usually what the bikers wanted, and Jameson was always ready to turn on a machine to hear that melodic buzz. Being a new artist meant he needed to pay his dues. Frank, Tonto, and “Girly” (her proper name being Meredith Santos, though Tonto never seemed to call her that), had been at Resurrection long enough to have built up a clientele list and establish themselves as artists. Jameson couldn't boast the same achievement and for that he was stuck doing the grunt work.<br/><br/>“What do you mean Mere isn't here today?” he whined, rolling his eyes toward Tonto. The wrinkled tattooist didn't seem to be listening, instead rattling on about what he wanted from Maybelle's (it was the same thing he got every time) while Jameson took a moment to analyze the rich, leathery quality of Tonto's skin. Though the man wasn't someone the average person would dare label “classically handsome,” Jameson found the thin folds and distinctive lines to be a work of art only nature and time could render so perfectly. He wondered if he'd ever have the opportunity to replicate a similar image into someone's skin. The supreme way to test his portrait skills and ability to replicate such an intricate, fascinating visage...<br/><br/>Of course, the face he was looking at<i>was</i>Tonto's. He doubted anyone would want that permanently etched onto their skin anytime soon.<br/><br/>Meredith taking some vacation time never boded well for Jamie. Frank didn't actively tattoo anymore save for some clients he had held close to him for decades, and Tonto wasn't much better. The old man's desire to do walk-ins seemed to shift with the wind, and he'd already made himself perfectly clear that he was going to be busy all day. Jamie was on his own.<br/><br/>The young tattooist sighed, setting down a bottle of intense cobalt blue ink. “I'll make the run if you wanna wait here. I don't have anything going on right now. If someone comes in, just tell 'em to wait for me.” He pulled out his cell phone, thumbing through his contacts list until the number for Maybelle's popped up. “Hey, it's Jamie from Res... Yeah, can I get an open face turkey and a grilled chicken club with avocado?... Nah, that's it... No problem, I'll be down in a few minutes.” Cell phone disappeared into the pocket of his jeans and Jamie instinctively tapped each of his pockets to ensure he had everything. Phone, check. Wallet, check. Keys, check.<br/><br/>The diner wasn't far off, down in the opposite direction from his apartment where Resurrection served as a midpoint. The trip to and from the little eatery took just over twenty minutes, testing Jamie's ability to speed walk around broken glass and discarded cigarette butts. His sandwich was boarding on lukewarm by the time he made it back and tossed it onto the empty desk at the front of the shop. “Food's here,” Jamie called, plopping down into the cushy chair at the desk before beginning to unwrap his sandwich. “Got anyone for me?”