[hr][hr]

[center][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Wyatt%20Rothenberg&name=Sweetly%20Broken.ttf&size=100&style_color=FFF6F0[/img]

[b]Location:[/b] [i]Seraphim Tattoos, The Bronx[/i]
[b]Interacting With:[/b] [i]Tatiana Carrington[/i][/center]
[hr][hr]
Wyatt listened to Tatiana, with perhaps a bit more concentration than before. The mere thought of raking in ten thousand American Dollars a week was enough to transform him into the very picture of attentiveness - brows furrowed and fingers steepled. Was he being disgustingly materialistic? Of course he was, without the tiniest inkling of doubt, but Wyatt liked to think that when presented with such a [i]glorious[/i] opportunity, any sort of moral decency he possessed could afford to take a back seat.

It seemed almost ludicrous, the amount of money Tatiana made from her business; and the fact that she made enough to pay some random stranger from the Internet to tag along on a family vacation, even more so. He’d encountered his fair share of tattoo artists, though none of them were even close to the redhead’s level of success. It was a testament to her talent, he supposed, not many people had the rare combination of skill and business savvy. When she talked about how she never took a single cent from her [i]filthy stinkin’ rich[/i] parents, however, Wyatt would be remiss to say that he found it a little hard to believe. She must’ve needed [i]some[/i] help to get her business off the ground.

But while it might’ve been difficult to believe, even [i]he[/i] had the acumen to keep his mouth shut, and so he did. In the wise words of Thumper: [i]“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say nothing at all”[/i].

...He should [i]really[/i] consider following the advice of cartoon rabbits more often. His life would probably be a whole lot easier, if he did.

Suddenly, before he had any chance to react, the half-spent cigarette was snatched from his hands. He thought about protesting - cigarettes were fucking expensive, after all - but just as quickly as it’d been taken, it was returned to him, earning from him yet another eyebrow raise.

“Can’t afford your own cigarettes?” He drawled in a tone that was joking, though his expression morphed from the classic, shit-eating smirk into one of reassuring concern when Tatiana expressed her concerns about him doing a runner. Once again, his shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug, as he waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, it’s cool. Don’t worry about it. I was having too much fun being a massive tool - you know how it is.”

Leaning back in his seat, he inadvertently gave Tatiana a good look at his terrible, [i]terrible[/i] clothes, which, of course, triggered some sort of guarded insult directed at his getup.

“What? This shit’s vintage. [i]Clearly[/i], you don’t know a thing about high fashion.” With a disdainful sniff, and a narrowing of the eyes, Wyatt played at being offended, though he couldn’t keep up the farcical display for more than a few seconds. The thought of trying on suit after suit, however, sent a chill through his bones, and it showed in the grimace that twisted his lips. “You’re gonna make me try on clothes like a [i]90s makeover montage[/i], aren’t you?”