“So you’re really doing it?” Horace practically danced as he, Stasi, and Linda walked into the tattoo shop. “You won’t back down?”
“Yes, I am,” Linda replied. “I have Fluff and Puff on my ankle, so why not you on the other one?”
“Your funeral,” Stasi muttered, settling in a chair.
“You could get a belly ring,” Horace suggested, hopping up on the arm and peering into Jazz’s bag. “Ow!” He blew on his singed fingers as he pulled them back before she zapped them again.
“So he’s what you want on your ankle?” Pat asked, after getting a good look at the eight-inch gargoyle that occupied his time exploring the shop.
“He’s the one,” Linda confirmed.
Horace wasted no time striking a gargoyle pose. “You’ll make me look good, right?” He followed Pat into the back, pointedly ignoring the ‘no passing beyond this point unless you’re getting a tattoo’. “I’m not just any gargoyle, ya know. I’m special.”
Once the design was drawn and pattern made, Linda sat up on the bench and stretched out.
“My tail needs to look sexier,” Horace said, perched on Pat’s shoulder.
“You need to behave before you’re tossed out,” Linda said.
“I just want it to look right.”
“So you really like to hang out in Stasi’s lingerie boutique’s dressing rooms?” Pat asked Horace.
“It’s a great way to observe the human race.” He held up his claws in innocence. “Hey, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
After a few well-worded threats from Stasi, Horace remained out of striking range and occupied himself with wandering the studio and observing other tattoos in progress while dancing to the music.
“He’s very cool,” Pat told Linda and Stasi.
“Great, he’s all yours,” Stasi told him. “Just be prepared to find your refrigerator empty.”
Along the way Horace emerged on Linda’s ankle. The gargoyle made sure to return and offer his own opinion.
“The real thing is much better, but gotta say Pat did catch the real me.”
“Yes, I am,” Linda replied. “I have Fluff and Puff on my ankle, so why not you on the other one?”
“Your funeral,” Stasi muttered, settling in a chair.
“You could get a belly ring,” Horace suggested, hopping up on the arm and peering into Jazz’s bag. “Ow!” He blew on his singed fingers as he pulled them back before she zapped them again.
“So he’s what you want on your ankle?” Pat asked, after getting a good look at the eight-inch gargoyle that occupied his time exploring the shop.
“He’s the one,” Linda confirmed.
Horace wasted no time striking a gargoyle pose. “You’ll make me look good, right?” He followed Pat into the back, pointedly ignoring the ‘no passing beyond this point unless you’re getting a tattoo’. “I’m not just any gargoyle, ya know. I’m special.”
Once the design was drawn and pattern made, Linda sat up on the bench and stretched out.
“My tail needs to look sexier,” Horace said, perched on Pat’s shoulder.
“You need to behave before you’re tossed out,” Linda said.
“I just want it to look right.”
“So you really like to hang out in Stasi’s lingerie boutique’s dressing rooms?” Pat asked Horace.
“It’s a great way to observe the human race.” He held up his claws in innocence. “Hey, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
After a few well-worded threats from Stasi, Horace remained out of striking range and occupied himself with wandering the studio and observing other tattoos in progress while dancing to the music.
“He’s very cool,” Pat told Linda and Stasi.
“Great, he’s all yours,” Stasi told him. “Just be prepared to find your refrigerator empty.”
Along the way Horace emerged on Linda’s ankle. The gargoyle made sure to return and offer his own opinion.
“The real thing is much better, but gotta say Pat did catch the real me.”
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