PaperFresh Shots

Ink It

A dark skinned boy huffed slightly as his hair started hanging in his face again. It was sort of warm in the shop and the air wasn't on, like they ever had it on. Instead the fans were on, moving the warm air around. 

It annoyed the young teen, who honestly felt aggervated that his mother wouldn't give him a real fliping job!

After sweeping the floors, he went behind the counter and pulled up his longer hair, braiding it actually. His hair went half way down his back, and his mother refuses to help him get it cut! Like come on! How the hell is he suppose to work with the long ass hair! In a hot ass fuck workshop!

"Excuse me," A gruffy voice brought the young teenager out of his head. "Do you know if I can talk with someone who works here?" It was a tall white man. He had on a dark black leather jacket with a deep red shirt underneath. He had on blue pants with army boots matching the whole bad boy look.

"You're talking to a worker." The dark skinned boy stated, his voice bored and dulled. "What can I help you with, sir?" The child leaned over the counter slighly, tilting his head. 

The taller male cleared his throat slightly, shifting his weight. The way the teen looked and spoke to him... It was... Defiantly not what he expected and he liked that.

"I came here for a tattoo." The man stated, seeing the boy raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, I thought you were here for the churros in the backroom." The kid rolled his eyes, standing up straight. "Got an idea of what you want, or do you need some time to think?" 

The mismatched eyes of the younger was driving the man insane! One being the color of gold in the sun light and the other a crystal blue! Surrounding the blue eye was a bright yellow star that clearly was tattooed. Which was surprising, since not many artists would do that to someone...

"No, I have an idea." 

The kid nodded, looking over his shoulder as a young woman walked out of the wash room.

"Yo, Ma, someone wants a tattoo." He called over, having his elbows on the clean counter.

The older male felt his lips curl into a smirk as he saw boredom and anger in the receptionist's eyes. Clearly they wanted to do the tattoo... Which was cute.

"Oh, wonder-" The woman stopped mid way when she saw who it was. 

Her mismatched eyes widen as her mouth dropped slightly. 

"U-Um, P-Paperjam c-can I-I-"

"Sure, Mom." Paperjam raised an eyebrow at his mother, she usually wasn't like this. 

The two walked into the hallway, where the customer couldn't see them and Ink started to silently panic. PJ found it funny how his mother was an ink artist and was named Ink... It was ironic... 

"Did you hear me?" His mother's sharp voice dragged him out of his thoughts.

"He's a talented ink artist and can decide whether a place can stay or needs to be shut down. He's a hardcore critic, more so than the other panties." The young teen stated simply. 

"Watch that language." His mother hissed, getting an eye rolled in return.

"So, what do you want from me? I'm not qualified to be an ink artist." Paperjam mocked his mother's saying.

"I-I... I won't be able to do it... Please, please do it for me... I've seen what you can do! Please! I'll have you help out more than you do! A-Actually help, p-please!" She whispered shouted, tears filling her eyes. 

"Okay, okay. I will do it, but no backing out of your promise." Jam mumbled as they walked back front. "Sorry for the wait. Got a picture or a description of what you want, sir?"