Re: [Studio: Kin & Sam]
Yeah, getting knocked up hadn't been deliberate or whatever, but it was hard to remember to use something all the time when you were constantly riding a tarball. So, yeah, the baby was a year old. Joey, a little girl named after Sam's dead brother and all barrio darkness like her papi. But Sam wasn't thinking about being a moms. She was mostly part-time anyway, yeah? Cris ran the shop and took care of the baby, and Sam painted. Well, she welded last year. This year, she painted. All the unevenness made her edgy as fuck, and maybe all this ink and piercing was just a manifestation of those jitters that clawed at her belly constant hungry lately.
"My back, yeah? Big. Up high. Is the watercolor thing hella complicated? I just kinda like how it looks, undefined and messy or whatever." And the girl obviously had a thing about water, yeah? Just looking at the paintings around the studio made that hella obvious. Maybe it was some kind of transcendence or something, drowning to ill-defined mermaid. "I might cut all my hair off and dye it blue, yeah? Who knows." Sitting there on the couch, one leg tucked up under her, she totes looked like she might do just that thing, despite being a moms and having an ex-sheriff babydaddy nearly twice her age.
"Yeah? I'm gonna tell Cris you said he had to be gentle, yeah? He tried to tell me it was hands fucking off for months. Can he come in the room, or are you picky about that shit?" She didn't want to get into her PTSD or hangups, or her hella complicated headcase bullshit, but it would be easier for her if Cris was in the room. Not for the ink, yeah? But for the piercings.
She lit the clove, and she watched as Ted sniffed 'Ro's hand. "He likes everybody. He's a spoiled little shit that way. The only time he gets pissed is if people go near the baby. He sleeps with her." Sam was fond of the dog, as indicated by big, gap-toothed smile around the brown-paper smoke. It made the room hella sweet, and Sam ashed onto the ground. "So, what's your story? I never known anyone to haul their ass across town to talk about ink or piercings." Small town, but whatever, it was still unique, and Sam tucked a knee up to her chest, like a Jersey-slum kid waiting for fucking storytime or some shit.