Post by Rusty on Apr 3, 2012 22:26:22 GMT -7
Full Name: Rushali Abhibhava Jaiteley
Nicknames: Her father called her ‘Ali’ as she was growing up, but the day she decided to run away to the city, and she forever changed her name to Rusty.
Apparent Age: 22-23
True Age: 26
Gender: Female
Hair: Since running away from home at 17, her hair has glistened with every color of the rainbow, though when the apocalypse hits, dark blue is the shade that stains her impossibly thick, pin-straight locks. Her mother often doted upon her long, shiny, onyx hair, while teaching her how to wear the hijab that her father insisted upon.
Skin:Light olive, a smooth mixture of her Muslim-Italian heritage, permanently painted with hundreds intricate designs, tattooed into her flesh. Her hands, fore arms and shoulders are completely covered in the bluish-black ink, while more tattoos dot her neck, and feet. On her face, on the temple above her right eye, small black stars dot the flesh.
Eyes: Deep, brown, like thick, cool mud.
*Height: Rusty is relatively tall, standing at about 5’10”.
Body Type: Her long, lean body, and acutely honed muscles resemble that of a wild gazelle. Growing up, running seemed to be the only outlet for her anger that her father approved of. Left without her sketch pad, forced to worship a God she had no faith in, and constantly pressured to be submissive to the word of even the most disgusting man, Rusty ran until the blood-red film of anger that coated her vision began to fade. The art that covers her body nearly glistens against the sinewy muscles of her arms, painstakingly trained to make extremely small, detailed movements, while her mile-long legs curve gently with natural strength.
Physical Description:
Face: Her face slopes in a gentle oval, dominated by painted lips and smokey, dramatic makeup. The brown and black shadows that sit upon her eyelids blend with thick, onyx eyeliner, winging outward and imitating eyes like that of a cat. Her eyebrows, carefully groomed and jet black, peak high above her prominent eyes. Diagonal from her right eye, seven small, black starts dot her olive flesh. Rusty’s cheekbones rest high on her face, full and defined like her mother’s, lifted by the grace of her smile, a ghost of the bright grins that used to liven her face.
Clothes: Rusty’s life revolves around the art of the human body, and the sheer expression contained within ‘desecrating the temple’ of one’s form. This philosophy she extends to her clothing. Often eccentric and sometimes bizarre, her work attire lingers between the spectrum of bohemian and gothic, without an ounce of predictability, to keep up the persona of her profession. Her hundreds of tattoos are always on display, no matter the occasion, in any outfit she throws together, like badges of honor.
Extras: Her skin is covered with hundreds of tattoos, ranging from pin-up girls to koi fish to any variety of ungodly musings, each displayed proudly as a small part of every artist that holds the needle and ink to her flesh. Only her ears are pierced, so as to not distract from the raw creative adornments of her skin. Aside from most of her face and her sections of her chest, Rusty’s entire upper body holds a smattering of tattoos.
Tone: Rusty’s voice is deeper than most girl’s, and scratchy from screaming her heart out as a heavy metal fan. As a young child, she would sit for hours trying to change the slight accent that danced out her mouth on certain words. She knew only the prayers in her father’s native Hindi, and spoke none of the language naturally, but growing up around so many thick, Arabian accents had influenced her own speech. After years of repressing the accent, and imitating the voices of the badass death metal chicks she snuck away from her father to listen to, the only tell of her nationality is her skin color.
*Nationality: Born in America, Rusty is of a rich cultural background. Her father, Abhibhava (Abe, for short) was a stoic, second generation Muslim-American married her mother when they were both quite young, she, fresh out of highschool, and he, finishing up the last year of trade school.He fell in love with the dark-featured, fun-loving, wholesome Italian girl, Rosalie, for her strength, determination, and wit, all characteristics his anger and sternness later crushed. She loved his exotic eyes, keen intelligence, and the romantic trips he would often sweep her off on. Their two cultures seemed to blend well, both steeped in tradition and a sense of family, so to prove her loyalty to Abe, Rosalie, the product of a catholic family, converted to Islam, and abandoned all of her high school dreams to take on the role of a full time wife and mother, from under the cover of a hijab.
Religion/Philosophy: Rusty watched as her father’s religion and piety progressively killed her mother’s joy and happiness, imprisoning even the best and brightest in her community to a life distracted by prayer and worship. She saw extremely intelligent, massively creative girls shackled with a husband and children all too soon, their desires of leaving the dusty old traditions far behind, shattered. She observed the wars and pain suffered at the hands of ‘God’. She heard whispers about the heartless destruction, created by people with the same skin color as her. She endured the taunts, the glares, and the death of thousands of people and massive amounts of reason and logic, all because of some dated, useless dogma. The very word ‘religion’ tastes bitter in her mouth, as she ran away, desperately trying to abandon it. To this day, she is an avid atheist.
"I have concluded through careful, empirical analysis and much thought that somebody is looking out for me. Keeping track of what I think about things, forgiving me when I do less then I ought, giving me strength to shoot for more than I think I am capable of. I believe they know everything that I do and think and they still love me and I’ve concluded after careful consideration that this person keeping score…is me." – Adam Savage
Sexual Orientation: Rusty ran away, at age 17, the day her parents approached her with a photo of a stocky, dark skinned boy with a big nose and crooked smile, and her father’s proud announcement of a ‘momentous occasion’, three months away. They mentioned his name, something dull and archaic, but all memory of it no longer exists in her mind. One phrase uttered that day remains seared in her mind, “He will be a fine husband…” Her heart sunk at these words, and her palms began to sweat. Since she could remember, Rusty had never been attracted to men. It simply seemed unnatural to her. Only women had ever caught her eye. To Rusty, men were stubborn, overly-zealous, ugly, and weak. Throughout high school, being ever the rebel, she’d experimented at drunken parties, occurring while her parents slept, then reveled in the memories of the soft warmth of the girls she’s been with as she faced toward Mecca and ‘prayed’ that morning.
*Previous Occupation: After running away, that fateful summer night, sticky and humid and pregnant with nerves, Rusty arrived in the city without friends, money, or shelter. She wandered about the underbelly of the metropolis, thick with smoke, beer, and silent desperation. She saw brown faces, even darker than her own, making deals in the cover of night, while weary-looking women sold themselves like meat. She was determined, and strong, but even she felt fear, looking around, feeling her options fall to pieces. She had hitchhiked the fifty miles to the city, and as the early morning hours kissed the air, she had nowhere to go. She continued to walk, feeling utterly defeated, until a sexy, smoky voice called out to her,”You look like you need a place to stay, shug” The raspy voice called, from the alley of a short, shiny black building. A painfully thin and obviously surgically ‘enhanced’ woman emerged from the shadows. Her straw-like blonde hair frizzed in the heat, her navy blue make up melted in the night. Rusty looked up and read the front of the building, “Velvet Gentlemen’s Club”. “We could use someone like you, honey,” her voice, thick and southern like golden- brown molasses covered Rusty in hope. The woman, whom appeared to be about 35, looked deep into Rusty’s chocolate brown eyes, winked, and grabbed her hand. By noon, Rusty was a ‘certified exotic dancer’. Rushali Abhibhava Jaiteley, the pretty little Muslim girl, had died. In her place stand Rusty, ‘covered’ as much as the woman, Candi, would allow, in black leather, impossibly high patent heels on her feet. She danced each night, peering out into the disgusting faces of pig-like men who grabbed greedily as she passed. She toyed with their emotions, shot them seductive glances and licked her lips when their eyes locked, only to get the money they so eagerly threw at her. With ‘Arabian Nights’ playing in the background, she created an exotic fantasy, allowing these men to look, but kicking their asses relentlessly if they ever touched. After a particular client, with thick, dirty fingers and a cheap polo shirt got to close, she broke four bones in his face. Being a well-known preacher in the more affluent parts of town, he never pressed charges, for fear of losing his ministry. The next day, Rusty bought a gun, which she kept in her thigh-high boots for the three years before she left.
Rusty worked at the club until her twentieth birthday, when the first woman she had ever seen walk into the club as a customer, sat in the front row and watched her dance. Her hair extremely long, falling down her back in carefree spirals, and stained a shocking pink. Her makeup was dramatic, and her skin the most luminous cream Rusty had ever seen. She was plump and gorgeous, her lips full and her bosom wide. Her body was covered in the most beautiful displays of art and expression, while her emerald green eyes locked onto Rusty’s throughout her entire time on stage. They never looked away. As the song ended, the woman, whose name she later learned to be Minx, beckoned her over and paid outrageous amounts of money just to sit and talk with her. A few days later, Rusty ended her time at the club and began a long, rigorous, healing apprenticeship at “Devilish”, Minx’s tattoo parlor. She learned the true extent of her artistic talent there, a talent her father had repressed, and a wide amount of precision and medical knowledge. She learned who she was, within the walls of the small little shop, an the tiny appear When asked about that time in her life, while learning to tattoo, light illuminates her face. When asked what became of Minx, and the shop…a dark shadow kisses her skin, and all happiness that once existed there disappears. On a good day, she’ll breathe deeply and walk away in a silent rage. On a bad day….
*Weapons of Choice: Rusty continues to carry the small caliber pistol with her, or stashed in her bedside table. When the apocalypse began, she quickly grabbed the axe in the ‘fire safety’ box in the wall of her shop. Other than that, she carries with her a box of standard medical supplies from the shop.
Likes: Rusty loves cats, and owns a hairless, Sphinx, cat. Though she often refers to him just as ,”Di” Diogenes of Sinope is his official title, named after the eccentric Greek cynic who is famed with telling Alexander the Great to ‘get out of his sun’. She has a deep love for animals and nature, and between appointments, often walks to the park a few blocks away to sketch Di and any other creature she has the pleasure to encounter. She loves to work with her hands, and when not tattooing and struggling to pay the rent, is often working late into the night on side projects and paintings, with the help of the energy drinks she all but functions on. She shops only at funky, vintage stores, and enjoys making beauty out of the scraps of clothes others have thrown away. A member of dozens of activist groups, Rusty is the banner carrier, constantly seeking to right the wrongs of man for humanities sake. She is an avid fighter of intolerance, and frequent attender of the Reason Rallies, and other atheistic gatherings. Rusty loves music and transformation, often dying her hair countless colors because of a single emotion she felt while listening to music. Finally, she loves children, and enjoys introducing Di to them, explaining that even the ‘ugliest’ animals need love too. However, she genuinely believes that he is the cutest creature she has ever seen.
Dislikes: Racism, religion, intolerance, pop music, escalators, not being in control, bubble tea, asparagus, math, sitting still, public transportation, organization, people who talk in movie theaters, white walls, chocolate milk, ignorance, and the feel of cotton balls on her fingertips, and most men. Though she is fiercely loyal if they prove themselves trustworthy, she's found that most men aren't. Usually, they're either predators at worst, or idle at best, in her eyes.
*Fears or Phobias: Rusty tries to live her life to the limits, acutely aware that life after death is only a fantasy, and wanting to experience as much as possible before she dies. However, she fears that is won’t be enough, and that she won’t be able to do all the things she wants before her time on Earth is over. She also has a huge fear of heights, small spaces, fire, and spiders.
Favorite Food(s): Sushi, Pastries, and anything ridiculously spicy. In her opinion, the more it hurts, to eat, the better.
Favorite Drink(s): Energy drinks, or anything out of her enormous collection of herbal teas
Favorite Color(s): All colors. Rusty feels that, as one of the only animals with the ability to see the spectrum of colors that humans do, and employ them to our use, colors and hues are a gift, each useful and beautiful in its own way.
Positive Personality Traits: Creative, thoughtful, philosophical, fiercely loyal, witty, and strategic, strong -willed, and if she trusts someone enough, a total sweetheart.
Negative Personality Traits: Overly-passionate, hot-headed, stubborn, proud very slow to trust, rude on occasion, and when first meeting some ine, extremely cold-hearted.
How does your character relax?
Rusty whispers to and pets Di, and ties to create art in any way she can: making bracelets out of flowers, or sketching on any scrap of paper she can find.
Bad Habits: Saying too much, cursing too loud, becoming easily offended…
Rules for Survival: Rusty looks out for those who look out for her, that’s it. Loyalty is immensely important to her. The only thing that comes before that is the safety of her cat.
Theme Songs: She Talks to Angels-The Black Crows
Greatest Failure: In one of her very early tattoos, as an apprentice, some simple lettering, she misspelled the word, peace as ‘piece’. That mistake stays with her every time she embarks on a tattoo.
Greatest Triumph: Finishing her apprenticeship, and becoming a full-fledged tattoo artist after three years.
How did you get along with others in the same occupation? The time she spent with Minx and the guys at “Devilish” were some of the best times of her life.
At present, what is the most important thing to you? To live through this, to go on with life, to accomplish the goals she laid out as an apprentice. To see her shop grow, to earn all of the love and support Minx and the boys gave her, and to help humanity as much as possible now, since the earth has finally proven what she’s known all along: there is no god to save us. We have to save ourselves.
Nicknames: Her father called her ‘Ali’ as she was growing up, but the day she decided to run away to the city, and she forever changed her name to Rusty.
Apparent Age: 22-23
True Age: 26
Gender: Female
Hair: Since running away from home at 17, her hair has glistened with every color of the rainbow, though when the apocalypse hits, dark blue is the shade that stains her impossibly thick, pin-straight locks. Her mother often doted upon her long, shiny, onyx hair, while teaching her how to wear the hijab that her father insisted upon.
Skin:Light olive, a smooth mixture of her Muslim-Italian heritage, permanently painted with hundreds intricate designs, tattooed into her flesh. Her hands, fore arms and shoulders are completely covered in the bluish-black ink, while more tattoos dot her neck, and feet. On her face, on the temple above her right eye, small black stars dot the flesh.
Eyes: Deep, brown, like thick, cool mud.
*Height: Rusty is relatively tall, standing at about 5’10”.
Body Type: Her long, lean body, and acutely honed muscles resemble that of a wild gazelle. Growing up, running seemed to be the only outlet for her anger that her father approved of. Left without her sketch pad, forced to worship a God she had no faith in, and constantly pressured to be submissive to the word of even the most disgusting man, Rusty ran until the blood-red film of anger that coated her vision began to fade. The art that covers her body nearly glistens against the sinewy muscles of her arms, painstakingly trained to make extremely small, detailed movements, while her mile-long legs curve gently with natural strength.
Physical Description:
Face: Her face slopes in a gentle oval, dominated by painted lips and smokey, dramatic makeup. The brown and black shadows that sit upon her eyelids blend with thick, onyx eyeliner, winging outward and imitating eyes like that of a cat. Her eyebrows, carefully groomed and jet black, peak high above her prominent eyes. Diagonal from her right eye, seven small, black starts dot her olive flesh. Rusty’s cheekbones rest high on her face, full and defined like her mother’s, lifted by the grace of her smile, a ghost of the bright grins that used to liven her face.
Clothes: Rusty’s life revolves around the art of the human body, and the sheer expression contained within ‘desecrating the temple’ of one’s form. This philosophy she extends to her clothing. Often eccentric and sometimes bizarre, her work attire lingers between the spectrum of bohemian and gothic, without an ounce of predictability, to keep up the persona of her profession. Her hundreds of tattoos are always on display, no matter the occasion, in any outfit she throws together, like badges of honor.
Extras: Her skin is covered with hundreds of tattoos, ranging from pin-up girls to koi fish to any variety of ungodly musings, each displayed proudly as a small part of every artist that holds the needle and ink to her flesh. Only her ears are pierced, so as to not distract from the raw creative adornments of her skin. Aside from most of her face and her sections of her chest, Rusty’s entire upper body holds a smattering of tattoos.
Tone: Rusty’s voice is deeper than most girl’s, and scratchy from screaming her heart out as a heavy metal fan. As a young child, she would sit for hours trying to change the slight accent that danced out her mouth on certain words. She knew only the prayers in her father’s native Hindi, and spoke none of the language naturally, but growing up around so many thick, Arabian accents had influenced her own speech. After years of repressing the accent, and imitating the voices of the badass death metal chicks she snuck away from her father to listen to, the only tell of her nationality is her skin color.
*Nationality: Born in America, Rusty is of a rich cultural background. Her father, Abhibhava (Abe, for short) was a stoic, second generation Muslim-American married her mother when they were both quite young, she, fresh out of highschool, and he, finishing up the last year of trade school.He fell in love with the dark-featured, fun-loving, wholesome Italian girl, Rosalie, for her strength, determination, and wit, all characteristics his anger and sternness later crushed. She loved his exotic eyes, keen intelligence, and the romantic trips he would often sweep her off on. Their two cultures seemed to blend well, both steeped in tradition and a sense of family, so to prove her loyalty to Abe, Rosalie, the product of a catholic family, converted to Islam, and abandoned all of her high school dreams to take on the role of a full time wife and mother, from under the cover of a hijab.
Religion/Philosophy: Rusty watched as her father’s religion and piety progressively killed her mother’s joy and happiness, imprisoning even the best and brightest in her community to a life distracted by prayer and worship. She saw extremely intelligent, massively creative girls shackled with a husband and children all too soon, their desires of leaving the dusty old traditions far behind, shattered. She observed the wars and pain suffered at the hands of ‘God’. She heard whispers about the heartless destruction, created by people with the same skin color as her. She endured the taunts, the glares, and the death of thousands of people and massive amounts of reason and logic, all because of some dated, useless dogma. The very word ‘religion’ tastes bitter in her mouth, as she ran away, desperately trying to abandon it. To this day, she is an avid atheist.
"I have concluded through careful, empirical analysis and much thought that somebody is looking out for me. Keeping track of what I think about things, forgiving me when I do less then I ought, giving me strength to shoot for more than I think I am capable of. I believe they know everything that I do and think and they still love me and I’ve concluded after careful consideration that this person keeping score…is me." – Adam Savage
Sexual Orientation: Rusty ran away, at age 17, the day her parents approached her with a photo of a stocky, dark skinned boy with a big nose and crooked smile, and her father’s proud announcement of a ‘momentous occasion’, three months away. They mentioned his name, something dull and archaic, but all memory of it no longer exists in her mind. One phrase uttered that day remains seared in her mind, “He will be a fine husband…” Her heart sunk at these words, and her palms began to sweat. Since she could remember, Rusty had never been attracted to men. It simply seemed unnatural to her. Only women had ever caught her eye. To Rusty, men were stubborn, overly-zealous, ugly, and weak. Throughout high school, being ever the rebel, she’d experimented at drunken parties, occurring while her parents slept, then reveled in the memories of the soft warmth of the girls she’s been with as she faced toward Mecca and ‘prayed’ that morning.
*Previous Occupation: After running away, that fateful summer night, sticky and humid and pregnant with nerves, Rusty arrived in the city without friends, money, or shelter. She wandered about the underbelly of the metropolis, thick with smoke, beer, and silent desperation. She saw brown faces, even darker than her own, making deals in the cover of night, while weary-looking women sold themselves like meat. She was determined, and strong, but even she felt fear, looking around, feeling her options fall to pieces. She had hitchhiked the fifty miles to the city, and as the early morning hours kissed the air, she had nowhere to go. She continued to walk, feeling utterly defeated, until a sexy, smoky voice called out to her,”You look like you need a place to stay, shug” The raspy voice called, from the alley of a short, shiny black building. A painfully thin and obviously surgically ‘enhanced’ woman emerged from the shadows. Her straw-like blonde hair frizzed in the heat, her navy blue make up melted in the night. Rusty looked up and read the front of the building, “Velvet Gentlemen’s Club”. “We could use someone like you, honey,” her voice, thick and southern like golden- brown molasses covered Rusty in hope. The woman, whom appeared to be about 35, looked deep into Rusty’s chocolate brown eyes, winked, and grabbed her hand. By noon, Rusty was a ‘certified exotic dancer’. Rushali Abhibhava Jaiteley, the pretty little Muslim girl, had died. In her place stand Rusty, ‘covered’ as much as the woman, Candi, would allow, in black leather, impossibly high patent heels on her feet. She danced each night, peering out into the disgusting faces of pig-like men who grabbed greedily as she passed. She toyed with their emotions, shot them seductive glances and licked her lips when their eyes locked, only to get the money they so eagerly threw at her. With ‘Arabian Nights’ playing in the background, she created an exotic fantasy, allowing these men to look, but kicking their asses relentlessly if they ever touched. After a particular client, with thick, dirty fingers and a cheap polo shirt got to close, she broke four bones in his face. Being a well-known preacher in the more affluent parts of town, he never pressed charges, for fear of losing his ministry. The next day, Rusty bought a gun, which she kept in her thigh-high boots for the three years before she left.
Rusty worked at the club until her twentieth birthday, when the first woman she had ever seen walk into the club as a customer, sat in the front row and watched her dance. Her hair extremely long, falling down her back in carefree spirals, and stained a shocking pink. Her makeup was dramatic, and her skin the most luminous cream Rusty had ever seen. She was plump and gorgeous, her lips full and her bosom wide. Her body was covered in the most beautiful displays of art and expression, while her emerald green eyes locked onto Rusty’s throughout her entire time on stage. They never looked away. As the song ended, the woman, whose name she later learned to be Minx, beckoned her over and paid outrageous amounts of money just to sit and talk with her. A few days later, Rusty ended her time at the club and began a long, rigorous, healing apprenticeship at “Devilish”, Minx’s tattoo parlor. She learned the true extent of her artistic talent there, a talent her father had repressed, and a wide amount of precision and medical knowledge. She learned who she was, within the walls of the small little shop, an the tiny appear When asked about that time in her life, while learning to tattoo, light illuminates her face. When asked what became of Minx, and the shop…a dark shadow kisses her skin, and all happiness that once existed there disappears. On a good day, she’ll breathe deeply and walk away in a silent rage. On a bad day….
*Weapons of Choice: Rusty continues to carry the small caliber pistol with her, or stashed in her bedside table. When the apocalypse began, she quickly grabbed the axe in the ‘fire safety’ box in the wall of her shop. Other than that, she carries with her a box of standard medical supplies from the shop.
Likes: Rusty loves cats, and owns a hairless, Sphinx, cat. Though she often refers to him just as ,”Di” Diogenes of Sinope is his official title, named after the eccentric Greek cynic who is famed with telling Alexander the Great to ‘get out of his sun’. She has a deep love for animals and nature, and between appointments, often walks to the park a few blocks away to sketch Di and any other creature she has the pleasure to encounter. She loves to work with her hands, and when not tattooing and struggling to pay the rent, is often working late into the night on side projects and paintings, with the help of the energy drinks she all but functions on. She shops only at funky, vintage stores, and enjoys making beauty out of the scraps of clothes others have thrown away. A member of dozens of activist groups, Rusty is the banner carrier, constantly seeking to right the wrongs of man for humanities sake. She is an avid fighter of intolerance, and frequent attender of the Reason Rallies, and other atheistic gatherings. Rusty loves music and transformation, often dying her hair countless colors because of a single emotion she felt while listening to music. Finally, she loves children, and enjoys introducing Di to them, explaining that even the ‘ugliest’ animals need love too. However, she genuinely believes that he is the cutest creature she has ever seen.
Dislikes: Racism, religion, intolerance, pop music, escalators, not being in control, bubble tea, asparagus, math, sitting still, public transportation, organization, people who talk in movie theaters, white walls, chocolate milk, ignorance, and the feel of cotton balls on her fingertips, and most men. Though she is fiercely loyal if they prove themselves trustworthy, she's found that most men aren't. Usually, they're either predators at worst, or idle at best, in her eyes.
*Fears or Phobias: Rusty tries to live her life to the limits, acutely aware that life after death is only a fantasy, and wanting to experience as much as possible before she dies. However, she fears that is won’t be enough, and that she won’t be able to do all the things she wants before her time on Earth is over. She also has a huge fear of heights, small spaces, fire, and spiders.
Favorite Food(s): Sushi, Pastries, and anything ridiculously spicy. In her opinion, the more it hurts, to eat, the better.
Favorite Drink(s): Energy drinks, or anything out of her enormous collection of herbal teas
Favorite Color(s): All colors. Rusty feels that, as one of the only animals with the ability to see the spectrum of colors that humans do, and employ them to our use, colors and hues are a gift, each useful and beautiful in its own way.
Positive Personality Traits: Creative, thoughtful, philosophical, fiercely loyal, witty, and strategic, strong -willed, and if she trusts someone enough, a total sweetheart.
Negative Personality Traits: Overly-passionate, hot-headed, stubborn, proud very slow to trust, rude on occasion, and when first meeting some ine, extremely cold-hearted.
How does your character relax?
Rusty whispers to and pets Di, and ties to create art in any way she can: making bracelets out of flowers, or sketching on any scrap of paper she can find.
Bad Habits: Saying too much, cursing too loud, becoming easily offended…
Rules for Survival: Rusty looks out for those who look out for her, that’s it. Loyalty is immensely important to her. The only thing that comes before that is the safety of her cat.
Theme Songs: She Talks to Angels-The Black Crows
Greatest Failure: In one of her very early tattoos, as an apprentice, some simple lettering, she misspelled the word, peace as ‘piece’. That mistake stays with her every time she embarks on a tattoo.
Greatest Triumph: Finishing her apprenticeship, and becoming a full-fledged tattoo artist after three years.
How did you get along with others in the same occupation? The time she spent with Minx and the guys at “Devilish” were some of the best times of her life.
At present, what is the most important thing to you? To live through this, to go on with life, to accomplish the goals she laid out as an apprentice. To see her shop grow, to earn all of the love and support Minx and the boys gave her, and to help humanity as much as possible now, since the earth has finally proven what she’s known all along: there is no god to save us. We have to save ourselves.