Out of what you outwardly claimed to be boredom, but secretly know to be desire to be a need to be around Dave, you shadow him to work. Today might be your day off, but it's not his. Besides that, Roxy called in sick, and Dave wanted an interpreter. You understand; it's hard to read lips, and it's an imprecise art.

So, now, you sit behind the front counter of Inkbound.

Your arms are folded across your chest, your eyes are half-closed, and you're wearing Roxy's apron. (It's a one-size-fits-most deal.) Nearby, Dave leans against the countertop. He clicks his pen incessantly, and, while it would have bothered you before, you've come to grow fond of his nervous habit. It reminds you of his presence. In fact, Dave has a peculiar way of clicking his pens. He always keeps a steady beat. Today, it's a leisurely ¾ beat.

Now, with the clicking as an oddly calming background noise, you stare at the pure white Christmas lights strung up around the ceiling crowns. From experience, you know that they're rigged to flash when a new customer comes in. It's a quick, simple, and subtle signal. In fact, you much prefer this system to the bells and ringing that most places seem to use. As you stare at this, they flash.

Dave frowns. He adjusts his glasses—the odd, clear-ribbed oblong ones you've grown familiar with—and offers a lopsided smile. This smile, however, quickly fades.

When you look up, you know exactly why.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you snap, trying your best to level the most pointedly aggressive glare at your brother-in-law. (This new moniker is only a guess. You assume that's what the new ring on his finger is for; you don't care either way.) "Get the hell out of here."

"Hey, now, kid. That's no way to talk to a potential customer." Cronus rolls his eyes, pauses, then punctuates this by spitting into a nearby potted plant. He flashes you a sinister grin, a gesture which highlights his fangs. (All trolls have pointed teeth, but the higher echelons of the blood caste tend to have much sharper ones.)

Dave, when you look at him, seems to agree. His demeanor is one of unbelievable calm, though you'd expect just as much. When he signs, you translate. "My apologies for Karkat. He still seems to have a grudge. Are you here for a new tattoo?"

"No, I'm here to order takeout," snaps Cronus, using his claw to pick food from between his teeth. "Yeah, you fucking idiot. I've got the design." He approaches the counter, slams a piece of paper onto the table, and smirks.

On it, there's a recognizable emblem. You know it to be the symbol of Kankri and his Signless jackasses—the astrological Cancer sign turned ninety degrees to the left. A sword runs through the two circles, apparently signifying the cleansing of the Troll species. You've told Dave about the symbol before, and he seems to understand its implications.

Nonetheless, he obliges. He nods, then gestures towards the chair. Again, you translate. "I don't have any appointments for today, so you can take a seat."

"Yeah," Cronus huffs, rolling his eyes, "Whatever. Just get this done." He sits down, rolls up his sleeve, and offers his bicep.

After what you assume to be standard sanitary procedures, Dave sits down and begins working.

Around now, it occurs to you that you've never seen Dave work. You've never been in the same room as him when he's actually tattooed someone, and it's an oddly mesmerizing process. His left hand draws the image, using small, precise movements, while his right wipes away ink with a white cloth. Like the pen-clicking, it's an oddly mesmerizing process. It's a bit like watching him draw, which you've also never truly done. (You've always felt as if doing so was intruding on his personal space and privacy.)

Cronus, meanwhile, scrutinizes the work. Though he tries to play it off casually, you can tell he's getting annoyed. He's always had a thing for tattoos, and he runs some sort of strange blog, wherein he publicly blasts the places he gets his work done at. By doing this, he uses the posts as leverage. If the parlor owner pays up, he'll take down the post; if not, he'll keep it up. You know it's his fucked-up way to get free tattoos, but both he and Kankri claim it's an effort to weed out bad tattoo places.

"So, what? When did this shithole open up again?" Cronus frowns. He visually scours his surroundings, showing notable disdain when he spots the small equality sticker on the door. "It's even worse than before. Dimly lit and ugly. I'm surprised you can even see anything in here."

Dave nods to acknowledge that he's understood your translation, but ignores the commentary. Instead, he continues to work, concentrating his obvious frustration into his art. Somehow, you feel as if this is something he's done often. It seems as if he's familiar with this process—spilling out his heart as nothing less than fine art.

"What? You're just going to ignore me?" scoffs Cronus, obviously upset by this development. "You're supposed to talk to your customers, you dense fucker. What, is your brain as shitty as your hearing?"

Again, Dave nods; again, he refrains from commenting.

After a while—but, you notice, only after the tattoo's outline is done—Cronus seems to have had enough. When Dave goes to change the colors out, he moves.

You, however, anticipated this. You're on top of him before he can do any damage. He strains against you, but you've always been stronger than you look. You're able to hold him down, and you lived with him long enough to learn how to avoid his punches.

Dave, meanwhile, exits. He comes back a few minutes later with Sollux, having grabbed him from the only private office in the building. (It's disguised as an out-of-order restroom, and you chock this up to Sollux's innate introversion. You completely understand where he's coming from and, as a bit of an introvert, you know why he does it. Nonetheless, the implementation is in line with Sollux's odd personality and sense of humor.)

Of course, the minute Cronus sees the manager of the store, he pounces. "Your employee attacked me," he claims, acting the part of a victimized and startled customer with an amazing amount of believability. "Look at him! He's pinned me down, and I don't fucking appreciate being treated like this." He makes a single, strong push against your grasp, and you stumble back. "I came here to get a tattoo, not to get physically assaulted."

"Well," Sollux reasons, his one good eye examining your shitty brother-in-law, "As I understand it, you're related to Karkat. Besides, he wouldn't attack you unless he had a reason." At this point, Sollux's gaze falls upon the work Dave's done on Cronus' bicep. He frowns. "And, judging by that tattoo, you do."

"What the hell is going on?" Dave signs to you from his spot in the corner.

You quickly reassure him. "I'll update you when something important happens."

The fingertips of Dave's flattened right palm touch his lips. He moves it out and down by the elbow, and his hand ends palm-up at waist level. "Thanks."

You nod.

Cronus, meanwhile, continues his tirade. He launches his usual trap. "I could report this place! I'm the owner of the Bad Tats Blog, and I have quite the following!" As if to back up his claim, he pulls out his phone and flashes his current Tumblr stats. "Over five thousand followers! Five! Thousand! I could ruin you."

"Then fucking ruin me," Sollux grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. His brows furrow. "Look, asshole I don't have time for this. If you're not going to say anything good, get the fuck out of my store." Despite Sollux's fairly scrawny appearance, he manages to get Cronus' hands behind his back. He then shoves your irate brother-in-law forwards, further commenting, "If I ever see your face in here again, I will shove my foot so far up your shit chute that it will break off in your pelvis."

Presumably, he escorts Cronus further than just outside the door.

There's a period of awkward silence—perhaps two minutes—as you wait for him to return. When he doesn't, you take the opportunity to fill Dave in on what he missed. "Cronus is probably going to shit on this place on his blog." You shrug.

He, too, shrugs. To your amusement, he doesn't show much faith in the influence of Cronus' blog, either. "So, hell whine to the internet? That sounds really fucking mature. What's next? He'll stick a pacifier in his own mouth and shit himself while he does it?" As per usual, he laughs at his own commentary.

You do, however, feel the need to at least inform him of the specifics. "It has a pretty decent following, and it's run places out of business before." You pause to consider the facts. Inkbound is still a relatively hole-in-the-wall place, and most people just pass it by. On one hand, there will definitely be newfound attention drawn to the place, but it won't necessarily be good. Then again, it could be a case of no publicity is bad publicity. It all adds up to an unsatisfying conclusion, "Who knows what will happen?"

"I don't. That's half the fun of it, I guess." Dave grins. "Thanks for holding him down, but I could have taken him on."

"Sure," you roll your eyes, but you know that he probably could have beaten the shit out of Cronus if he'd wanted to. You definitely saved him the trouble of doing so, though. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Dave reassures you. His grin fades, though, as he continues, "We'll probably have to watch ourselves a little more, now."

"I know." You sigh.

He does, too.

And, around now, Sollux reenters. He, too, heaves his own sigh. "That bastard was a fucking handful. Karkat, your family is fucked up."

"You don't need to remind me," you grumble. "I'm really fucking sorry about that, though. It won't happen again."

"Oh, I know it won't," counters your childhood friend, "If he comes back, I'm calling the goddamned cops." After a huff of some unknown but definitely unpleasant emotion, he sets up the coffee pot in the back of the tattoo parlor. He turns it on, offers both you and Dave a silent wave, and disappears back into his office.