Tomlin Derigas's Questionnaire

I live in Seattle, Washington. I live here because it is rainy and depressing. Like me and my tears of joy for my solitude. I was born in California, but to hell with that. I live alone in a dusty studio apartment, alone and isolated. I like it this way. It is above a warehouse turned into a club, close to the docks. While the club is in operation, I work the bar (sparingly, mind you) and work at a 24 hour tattoo parlor that  I hold partial ownership of. My only customers at the shop are loyal ones and-- lets be honest-- drunken bastards with nowhere else to go who no longer have fucks to give. I refuse the right to tattoo anyone, especially if they are drunk. But y'know? Sometimes the drunk ones are fun and creative with what they want. My studio apartment is sparse in decorations or belongings. Because, let's be honest, I don't plan on being here long. 

Right now, Tomlin is trying to save his money. Though he may be anti-social to an extreme, this poor sod does have a few friends. He spends as little as he can on rent, putting his money towards savings and equipment to do his contracts. He doesn’t make as much as he’d originally hoped when he became a tattoo artist, but he is remarkably okay with how he’s doing. He wants little to no emotional or financial attachments when the time comes to get what he wants and leave everything behind. After all, it ain't cheap being a werewolf. Or getting to be one.

Ambition is a difficult thing to describe, honestly. My ambition? I'd say it's a lofty one. Some might call me crazy. Some already have. How far would I go to achieve becoming a werewolf? To becoming a priest of Luna? All the way. Would I kill for it? Yes. Have I? Not yet. But my plans haven't come to full fruition yet, eh? Now, how close would I come to death for it? I think achieving my goal is coming pretty damn close to death in and of itself. And I will cherish the day it happens. It's not as if the virus is exactly SAFE, you know? After all, if you're not willing to be mauled by a werewolf to become a werewolf, you're not trying hard enough. 

I'd have to say... The night I saw the grace and beauty of Luna. The night I witnessed her creations, the werewolves, kill 4 people. Why did they leave me alive? Why did they just sniff me? Was it because I was meant to be one of them? It really doesn't  matter, does it? That is my goal. To serve my goddess and become one of her chosen. Everything boils down to that one night. It broke something inside me, but it also inspired me to an extreme. I must be fastidious in any and all ways. Ever vigilant. Ever loyal. Ever mindful of how She sees me. 

People. Pfffft.... People.

Firstly, there's John Brown. It could be the single most generic name ever givern to a man at birth. But Old John taught me everything I know. He runs the shop in my absence. In some ways, he's been like a father to me. I really do not know how to describe how I feel for him. It is something that he calls love. He says he loves me like a son. I really don't know if people can say such a thing and mean it. But if that is the title he wants to give himself, so be it... If anyone would miss me once I'm gone, it would be Old John.

Secondly, there's Mindy. Human canvas. Occasional cock sleeve. She wouldn't care if I was gone from this world or out of her life as long as I ink her for free. Boohoo, poor Tom dropped off the face of the earth. "Damn, there went my free tats". I couldn't even tell you her natural hair color, she even dyes the drapes AND the carpets. 

Thirdly... Cherise. Fucking Cherise. I stopped calling her mom the day she tried to sell me to a John for money. Go fuck yourself, Cherise.

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