“Yeah, and my mama will tell you that if you bring it up to her,” the tattooist joked, smirking. It was no secret Jameson hadn't been conceived by an in-love, dedicate couple. Just a pretty seventeen year old prom queen with hair the color of molasses and a James Deanesque drifter about a decade too old to be knocking up high schoolers.<br/><br/>“I may regret a lot of things in my life but I will never regret the bottle that led to you,” she would say, smiling while running her fingers through her son's hair because she was the only one allowed to do so. Yvette McCall was a woman with many admirable traits, her sense of humor being one of them.<br/><br/>“You may be called 'Grunt,' but I highly doubt that's what's on your ID,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. 'Grunt' seemed more like a title than a name, and maybe the blonde was melding himself to this identity the Roadkill Jokers had given him. It was difficult to say. But rarely was anyone just a title. Just a job. Why should this guy be any different? “I don't wanna know what<i>they</i>call you, I was asking what you call yourself, when you're alone. You got a something like that?”<br/><br/>He didn't get<i>too</i>close, standing about a foot and half away, focusing more on the held out hand than the perceived stiffness in Grunt's shoulders. Jameson stared at the collection of tattoos etched out on the back of Grunt's hand. Though the option seemed to be null anyway, what with Grunt being proud of the ink he'd earned, the young artist didn't see how it was possible for him to cover it all anyway. There were too many aggressive shapes and wonky lines. Maybe a tattooist with decades worth of experience would have a better shot.<br/><br/>“You have a tough bit of skin, there.” He paused, rolling his thoughts around on his tongue before he spoke. “I wouldn't want to cover up your hand, not really. My choice would be to freshen up the tattoos you already have. Make them cleaner, more defined. Pop some color back into those faded lines. Same tattoos, new look.”<br/><br/>He stepped back, chancing a glance into Grunt's eyes. “If you're ever interested in something like that, or even something new, you know where I am.” His eyes shifted from Grunt to the staircase, then back again. He jerked his head toward the upper level and furrowed his brows. “You got any idea how long they're gonna be up there?”