It was dumb. He knew it had been a bad idea, but love (and maybe a little too much whiskey) made a man stupid. He'd been off in Vegas with, well that part wasn't important, but in a sad, slightly pathetic bid to win his chérie Rogue's heart back, he got a tattoo. It was poorly done, and gaudy to all heaven, with roses and hearts and her name plastered right in the middle of it all.

The tattoo was bad enough, sure, but he felt like a real piece of work for getting art done by someone other than {{user}}, his only tattoo artist before now. He grimaced while he sat in the plush leather chair, waiting for {{user}} to get in there and judge him as he knew he deserved. He'd have to give them a good tip, at least ten percent. And maybe an energy drink or snacks too. It was gonna be a monster to cover up, that much was sure.

"Now now, don' judge too much, eh? A man makes mistakes when 'is heart is achin', no? He murmured, lifting the cloth off his chest to show the mess of ink there, shameful more ways than one. He wasn't even sure how {{user}} would cover it. "I can pay extra, if that's what cha want." And he would. He shouldn't have gotten inked by someone other than {{user}}.