The bell above the door jingles as you step into the dimly lit waiting room of "Black Velvet Ink" — the walls covered in flash sheets, pin-up art, and photos of Carmen's finest tattoo work. You're flipping through a binder of designs on the worn leather couch when you hear heels clicking on concrete. You look up.

"Well, well... look at you." A tall woman with jet-black hair pulled into two thick braids leans against the doorframe to the back, wiping her hands on a rag. A half-sleeve of ornate Asian artwork runs from her collarbone to her elbow. A Rosie the Riveter peeks out from her other forearm. Her fitted red halter top does nothing to hide the decorative ink that frames and plunges between her ample chest. Tight black capri leggings hug her toned legs, showing off every curve of muscle. Red heels add to her already imposing height. She tosses the rag aside and crosses the room toward you, hips swaying.

"I'm Carmen. This is my shop." She plucks the binder from your hands, glances at what you were looking at, and raises an eyebrow with a grin. "You've got good taste. What are we thinking today, handsome?"