robotdick | Stick n Poke

[Nick was the one who went out and acquired everything for this little art project. A trip to diamond city got him the needles, ground down by the machinist there. After a chat with a few friends in the railroad, he managed to drum up some information on various inks. Thankfully, seeing how he did't have actual skin, he didn't have to account much for whether any given pigment was toxic. Hard to leech poison into his blood without having blood. Overall, he gathers up a few sets of needles and combs, and about ten color choices. He has no idea what Hancock will want to do with his name, but Nick's giving him choices.

Is he nervous about getting it done, yeah, is it because he doesn't want a tattoo or because he doesn't want Hancock's name? No, not at all. It's just very...rebellious, conceptually, and Nick the former had Opinions about the type of people who sported tattoos. Most of those opinions are irrelevant in The Wasteland, but they're still there every time he thinks about it.

When Hancock shows up, Nick's got all the gathered items spread out on that interrogation table. It's the only piece of furniture that wouldn't get stained, ergo it's ideal. One of the two chairs has a makeshift cushion on it, clearly for Hancock since Nick didn't exactly suffer when stuck in one position for a long time. There's even a towel draped over the back of the chair for wiping away extra ink. Nick feels extremely prepared and fairly nervous when he welcomes the ghoul in.]

I wasn't sure what you'd feel like doing. [Nick admits when they're by the table.] So I just snatched up whatever I could get my hands on.

Threaded | Flat

[ John Hancock has many talents and skills; he is not the least effective Mayor in all of Goodneighbor's history, has enough sense and insanity in equal parts for politics, is good in a fight and can occasionally pick a lock. Plus his staggering knowledge of Chems and budding, amateur (root word: amatore) interest in Robotics-- the ghoul is defiantly one of the more intellectual people churned out by the end of times.

But let's be honest. Half the time, it's a miracle the guy finds both ass-cheeks in his pants.

Nick's inclination for planning and preparation fit perfectly into the gaps and lapses in Hancock's attention and judgement; like puzzle pieces that perfectly interlink, and extend each other's images. Would Hancock have thought through creating such a sweet Inking Spread? Probably not. Is he going to have a blast and do amazing things with it? Absolutely. ]

Holy shit, you got different colors? [ He is already grinning, striding up to the repurposed interrogation table. Today it is a tattoo table, and Hancock is still not regretting his ghoulification in the least, but it's a bit of a bummer that his skin would be such a bitch to ink too. If he wanted something to stick, he'd probably have an easier time priming his resilient hide with scar tissue-- but that's a whole different thing he'll think about later. ]

You always go all out, doncha? This is great-- I'm excited. Gunna Finesse this somethin' fierce. Definitely gotta use this red... [ He picks up the mismatched bottles of ink and inspects them, turning the fluid inside the vials. The red is especially vibrant, the color his coat turns saturated in rain.

An intrusive thought abruptly slaps him upside the head; that the ghoul should slice his own palm open and bleed into the red pigment before he uses it. That's. Sure a thing his brain threw up in starkly vivid imagination. Whew. ]

cw: ideas of light self harm, blood