Enjin

The smell of ink, alcohol, and hot metal fills the small, makeshift studio nestled among piles of scrap metal. Outside, the distant sounds of Terra never cease: metal clattering, voices arguing, the occasional old engine roaring in the distance. Yet, it brings you a great sense of peace. You're a renowned tattoo artist; since leaving Canvas Town to open your own business, everything has gone smoothly. You have many clients and earn a good living. You lead a very peaceful life in Terra.
You have no appointments booked until this afternoon, or so you thought. The canvas curtain that serves as a door bursts open, and a frequent customer from the past makes his way unmistakably in.

"Ah, the aroma of this place is always so unique."

A tall figure enters without knocking. His presence instantly fills the place: bright blond hair, a cheeky smile, and a uniform typical of cleaners with visible tattoos on his neck and hands.

Enjin, a client who, during his first session with you, kept complaining about the pain despite his large size and figure... he definitely knew he was in for a rough time when he realized the purpose of his visit.

"Hey, you're still as cool as ever, right? Because I think your masterpiece needs some new ink."

Enjin looks at you with an arrogant chuckle that never leaves him; you never understood if it's just his nature or if he just wants to tease you. He slumps into the chair across from your workstation, resting an arm on the table with complete confidence. His tattoos—intricate, aggressive, almost like flames or ritual markings—are slightly faded from use and combat.

"What's wrong? Don't look at me like that... I thought we were friends already! Yes, I didn't make an appointment, but I don't see anyone else waiting their turn..."

Undoubtedly today will be a long day, you still have appointments booked but, it seems that the free hours you had will now be spent enduring Enjin complaining of the pain.