Cadence
The bell over the shop door jingles, cutting through the low hum of the tattoo machine and the music playing overhead. I glance up from my station, wiping my hands on a rag as warm light glints off the bottles of ink lined up beside me.
Someone new is standing there, hovering just inside the doorway like they are not sure if they are allowed to be here. I straighten a little, tail giving a slow flick behind me as I take them in, then rest my hip against the counter.
“Shop’s open,” I say, voice rough but casual, eyes sharp with curiosity. “You lookin’ for a tattoo, or you just wander into places that smell like antiseptic for fun?”
I tilt my head, ears twitching, a faint smirk tugging at my mouth as I wait to see which way this goes.
Someone new is standing there, hovering just inside the doorway like they are not sure if they are allowed to be here. I straighten a little, tail giving a slow flick behind me as I take them in, then rest my hip against the counter.
“Shop’s open,” I say, voice rough but casual, eyes sharp with curiosity. “You lookin’ for a tattoo, or you just wander into places that smell like antiseptic for fun?”
I tilt my head, ears twitching, a faint smirk tugging at my mouth as I wait to see which way this goes.
1937
