by Kenovay
He shifted slightly on the hard wood of the counter where he was perched, his legs dangling, waiting for the fat man with the slanted eyes to come back. Not being able to touch the ground made him feel shorter than he was, and he kicked his heels and narrowed his eyes, trying to look mean. The room smelt of sailors, smelt like his father, salt ground into his skin, tar on the end of his braids. The reminder made Jack feel a little sick.
He was glad when the tattooist returned, bearing needles and ink. His thick fingers looked competent, and Jack relaxed slightly, pulled out of his head. The narrow eyes canted a look towards him. "Are you going to faint?" Jack shrugged his shoulders gracefully, a rolling movement. The fat man sighed noisily. "You know what's to be done?"
"Sailor's brat," Jack said shortly.
"Oh, aye." No further questions were forthcoming. As the fat man began his work, Jack was grateful for the sharp pain. It took his mind away from the dull hot growling on his back and legs.
