XVI - Tattoos And Tanqueray

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"I don't tattoo children." Pogo said bluntly, puffing a large cloud of smoke from his burning cigarette. Number Eight was slightly taken aback by his appearance. The Pogo that she had known since her birth had always worn a three piece suit, every single day without fail. His fur was always meticulously pruned and a neat pair of glasses sat upon the bridge of his snout. This Pogo was ragged and tough-looking, with patches of shaved fur that revealed tattoos on his skin. His left ear was pierced with a hoop earring and a thick, silver chain hung around the ape's neck.

"Swell." Number Five grimaced. "We're not here for the ink. We're here because we have a mutual friend. Sir Reginald Hargreeves."

Pogo's face quickly dropped at Number Five's statement, resulting in a heavy sigh as he turned away from the teenagers

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Pogo's face quickly dropped at Number Five's statement, resulting in a heavy sigh as he turned away from the teenagers. "Whatever he wants, I'm not interested."

"I don't think you understand. We're his children. Well, adoptive children. And we're only two out of eight." Number Eight frowned at Pogo's dismissal. "From another timeline."

Pogo's interest had been piqued, causing him to turn his attention back to Number Five and Number Eight. "Another timeline?" He swiftly shook his head and chuckled in disbelief.

"As crazy as it sounds, you and I have met before. Back in 1963, when you were a diaper-wearing chimp in dire need of a manicure. I don't know if you remember, but I have a scar to prove it." Number Five pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a purplish scar across the side of his neck.

"If what you're saying is true, I'd be talking to a pair well into their sixties." Pogo scoffed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had a very long day."

"Pogo, you have to listen to us." Number Eight tried to get closer to Pogo, however, a swarm of large men began to circle her and Number Five.

They grunted in unison. "Time to go home to Mommy, princess. Take the li'l guy with you."

"Call me princess one more time and I will shove my fist so far down your throat, you'll feel it in your ass. Now, piss off." Number Eight took hold of Number Five's hand before the pair blinked out of the room.

They landed just outside of the bar, back to where they had once started. They simultaneously noticed Pogo speeding away on a motorcycle, the revving sound of his engine echoing through the air.

"Oh, shit." Number Eight cursed as she heard the engine sound grow more and more distant.

"Hey, I need your bike. It's an emergency." Number Five approached one of the bikers outside of the bar, who was looking at the pair with disgust.

"Think you have me confused with someone who gives a shit." He snarled simply.

Number Eight rolled her eyes, approaching the biker with a confident stride. "Oh, trust me, you will give a shit." She wrapped her dainty hand around the biker's wrist, causing her signature golden glow to emanate from his skin. She chuckled to herself as she turned to Number Five. "Hey! Turns out his worst fear is clowns! Turns out bikers aren't as tough as they act."

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