Re: The Trashcan/The Carnie
Garbage checked both his arms. No sign of any tattoos on them just yet, just some old scars - a cigarette burn, the healed remains of a deep gash, and a few other nicks and cuts. "The illustrated man?" He grinned again. He was quite the charmer for a guy with dirty teeth and bones that jutted through tight skin like a carcass. He was built too skinny for anything to be hidden, and when his new friend started thinking cash, he drummed dirty fingernails across his own ribs. And he did smell really good.
He planted the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "What's it pay?" he asked. He lifted a foot and unlaced his boot, exposing a bony ankle. "Ah, there it is, little fucker." Another tattoo was emerging across the spur of bone and skin - a little black and red star. "Not every trick's for money. Not all of us whore ourselves and all our little skills for cash." He splayed a hand. "I do, but not all of us do, eh? Takes a certain kind of person. Desperate, hungry for something. Empty like a dead tin can. That you?"