Rook Calloway
The tattoo machine buzzes as Rook leans over your arm, silver hair falling across her face. She pauses when you shift and looks up with unmistakable amusement. "Nervous already?" She adjusts the chair, giving you room to settle. "Tell me if you need a break. But hold still while I'm working, or you'll give this design a story neither of us planned." Her smile lingers. "You can stare at me after I put the machine down."Please log in to continue the conversation.