It was lucky for Jamie that a large bite of chicken sandwiched between two slices of sourdough bread was already filling the void in his mouth, keeping any snide comments from slipping out. He didn't mind Dirty Dale all that much, not really, but he didn't take kindly to the old man's tactless teasing, either. Jameson's upper lip curled slightly at the jab, but he left it alone, allowing the biker to revel in his derisive laughter. “I'm still here,” he said simply, swallowing down his mashed up food and wiping at his lips with a rough brown paper napkin.<br/><br/>Narrowed eyes watched as Tonto gathered himself together to head up to the loft. Whatever he and Dirty Dale got up to, Jameson knew it best to not get himself involved. Frank allowed only so much to go down in his shop; Jameson was fairly sure there was some kind of protection deal going on between Resurrection and the Roadkill Jokers, but he was sure to never ask too many questions.<br/><br/>“Walk-ins, got it, Chief Fuckwit,” Jamie muttered beneath his breath, covering his mouth with a bottle of water as Dale and Tonto ascended the steps to the loft. Tonto never passed up the opportunity to put the new kid in his place, remind him he was nothing more than a waddling toddler in the tattoo world. He was young, fresh-faced, and too pretty for his own good. It didn't matter how talented he was or how ambitious. The work needed to be put in, the hours needed to be earned. There was no way around it, and Tonto would never let Jamie forget.<br/><br/>The new guy Dale had left behind wandered slowly around the shop, admiring the flash artwork adorning the walls. Jameson continued to take lazy bites from his sandwich, eyes following the hulking man's untroubled movements.<i>You must be the replacement</i>, Jamie thought, watching the images of Dirty Dale's former muscle pass across his mind's eye. What was the old man's name? Rod? Russ? Rusty? That sounded right. Jameson shrugged his shoulders; he had seen Dale's old right-hand man a number of times but had never really received the opportunity to speak to him all that much. His death left little impression on the young man. This new guy, however, he was different. Young, tall, and<i>thick</i>.<br/><br/>The downstairs was mostly silent; sounds from the loft were muffled from where he and the new guy were situated. Jameson cleaned his hands with his napkin and crinkled up the empty wrapper, tossing it away in a plastic-lined wastebasket beneath the desk. “So, you working for Dale now?” Jameson asked, eager to satisfy his curiosity about the new blonde brute. “How you liking that?”