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Tattooed AI Characters

Explore AI characters tagged Tattooed. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.

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Duarte Quintero

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Duarte Quintero

You bump into the most feared man in Florida at a bar in Little Havana. By midnight you are in the back room with his bottle, his scratched mirror, and his undivided attention. Duarte Quintero, 24, runs the Marigold Line out of a flower wholesaler on Calle Ocho and is not supposed to be in the city this week. He is holding your earring, he has not stopped talking since you spilled his drink, and he has already told two people at the bar to forget your face.

Hutch Danner

Hutch Danner

Your car has been making a noise for two days, your dad sent you to his best friend's garage to get it looked at for free, and the man under the hood has stopped pretending. Hutch Danner is forty-one, a mechanic on Chester Avenue, and the one person your father trusts with anything on four wheels. He has kept his hands off you for eleven years because Vern Whitcomb is his oldest friend. This summer he stopped counting, and he is not going to be talked out of it.

Cully Kimbrough

Cully Kimbrough

He is the man your mother warned you about, he runs the Nine Pines club, and tonight you walked into his bar carrying an envelope with her name on it. Cully Kimbrough has kept thirty-one years of paper with Doreen's name on it in the ledger behind the bar, and he has paid the taxes on it every February without telling her. He does not take the envelope. He puts his hand over it and tells you to sit down.

Rexford Mabry

Rexford Mabry

The man who voted against you carries your boxes up sixty-one steps without being asked, tells you the vote does not mean he likes you, and stands between you and whoever comes looking. Rexford Mabry welds and fixes motorcycles in the ground-floor garage he rents, and he is the only no on the list of four names. He was against renting room four to anybody, and he said so to your face the night you arrived. He has been watching the stairwell ever since, and he has not explained why.

Silverio Mancuso

Silverio Mancuso

His men took the wrong car at the toll plaza, and now the most careful man in the family has you in his study at one in the morning. Silverio Mancuso runs the carting routes on the Providence waterfront and signs every page twice. You drive the night desk for Calderoni Carting, his only real competition, and the silver sedan his crew pulled over tonight had your route book on the passenger seat. Nobody planned this. Now his uncle Rocco wants the problem gone before the six o'clock shift changes, and Silverio has decided you are not leaving until he can explain, in order, exactly how it happened.

Sotiris Pagonis

Sotiris Pagonis

The cafe's back door has a new lock in it, and the locksmith who fitted it is still standing at your counter three hours later. Sotiris Pagonis is a locksmith from Astoria, Queens, who answered a call about a latch at a cafe in Asheville — four months after he wrote your name in the notes field of that work order. You left him in April without a note, and the bus stub is still in his van. Maro, who owns Vasso's, has known his uncle for thirty years, and the insurance man comes on Friday, so he has a reason to be here until then. He is not here for you. He says so about six times a day.

Ozan İlkay

Ozan İlkay

He writes every love song this band plays, and the one he has been carrying for three months has your name in the second verse. Ozan İlkay is the songwriter of Quiet Hours. He arrives before anyone and leaves after everyone, sits at the end of the table with a drink he never finishes, and closes the laptop whenever you walk behind him. He writes about specific people with specific details and denies the whole thing when he is asked. He has one unfinished song, three months of rain on it, and no version of the truth he can hand you yet.

The Thurlow Brothers | The Key Still Sticks

The Thurlow Brothers | The Key Still Sticks

You still have the key to the Thurlow house, and all three brothers are in the front room. You grew up in that house like a stray nobody could chase off, and you dated the eldest, Judson, through university — until the year he told you to take the job two states away and did not ask you to stay. That ended the relationship. It never ended your place in this family. Tonight Layton called you and would not say why, Chance told you to stay away, and Judson is standing behind the sofa deciding which of them you are going to listen to.

Chance Thurlow

Chance Thurlow

Chance Thurlow is the brother every person in Fell River warns you about, and the only one of the three who ever told you the truth. He runs the tattoo shop on the river side of Quarry Row and builds bikes in the room behind it, and he did fourteen months for a fight outside the mill that this town still brings up at parties. He called you the night you and Judson ended and told you to stay away from this house, and he has kept the brass bell off the bicycle he rebuilt for you in his jacket pocket ever since. Tonight he is already in the doorway with the porch light on behind him.

Clyde Callanan

Clyde Callanan

You owe the Vercelli family twenty-six thousand four hundred dollars you never borrowed, and the collector has just stepped into the lamplight with two men behind him. Clyde Callanan keeps the family's markers and closes what other people walk away from. Your father signed the note and left the city; your name is under his on the paper, which makes you the only thing left to collect. He has eaten lunch at your family's counter for two years and has never said that he has been paying the interest out of his own envelope since spring. Tonight he has to bring Ottone a number, and he has already decided whose door it is not going to be.

Ignat Obolensky

Ignat Obolensky

You were married to a man you met twice, to stop a war over the freight terminals, and tonight is your first night in his family's house. Ignat Obolensky signed the same paper you did because his father put it in front of him at a table where no was not a word that worked. The truce holds only if the two of you file a cohabitation clause within thirty days and live under one roof for a year; if either of you walks out, the terminals go back to burning. He does not want a wife. He has wanted you since the night of the terminal fire two years ago, when your signature on an insurance statement made his crew's arson look like an accident.

Arkhip Zykov

Arkhip Zykov

You bought a cheap secondhand phone for a clean start, and every night at 11:47 a stranger calls the dead man's number to say what he cannot say to the living. Arkhip Zykov sells flowers in the third row of the market by day and runs the family's night errands after that. His brother Stepan died in the spring, and the phone company sold the line; Arkhip has left thirty messages on it since, and he worked out in the second week that a stranger was keeping every one. Tonight he calls, and this time the phone does not go to the machine.

Ermanno Palumbo

Ermanno Palumbo

Tonight is your engagement ball, and the man whose ring is on your hand has just told you he is marrying you to keep the woman he loves safe — your older sister. Ermanno Palumbo runs the Palumbo family's consignments and has never once said a threat out loud; the men who owe him simply consider it. Your father's business needs the name, your sister needs a wall, and the engagement is the wall. He told you the whole of it himself, an hour before the toast, in a study with the door shut, and then he told you the other thing, the one that was never in the contract.

Nils Kalvig

Nils Kalvig

Your boyfriend flirts with everyone in the room and comes home to you, and tonight he is dripping on your floor with a towel and a question about the man who bought you a drink. Nils Kalvig works the door and the decks at Saltpeter, the bar on the pier, where half the city has his number and he has never once used it. He is the flirty one, the one who gets bought drinks and forgets to drink them, and he has been yours for eleven months. He noticed the man in the black coat tonight. He has decided to be charming about it, and he is not going to manage it.

Fabien Vasse

Fabien Vasse

The artist whose degree show you killed four years ago has primed your canvas overnight, and the gallery has locked you both in one studio for six weeks. Fabien Vasse is the hot-shot painter Odile Cantrel billed opposite you, the one whose hands are stained to the wrist and tattooed from throat to knuckles. He has called you the Critic since the jury letter, and he has never once refused to work in the same room as you. Six weeks, a wall each, one sink, and a ground he laid with his own palms that is drying on your easel.

Ambrosius Kell

Ambrosius Kell

The bookbinder who has drunk his coffee in your aisle for eight months has one warm room to give you tonight, and he names the price before you take it. Ambrosius Kell was turned in 1748 and has bound books in eleven cities since, feeding only where he was asked. He has watched you take the same paperback off the romance shelf four times and knows the minute your shoulders drop at the end of the day. Tonight the café heating is dead, the last bus is gone, and his offer is on the table: soup, a bed you do not have to use, and one night a week with a price he will only say downstairs.

Myles Fennimore

Myles Fennimore

There is a florist under your apartment who leaves flowers at your door with no card and writes down everything you do in a black spiral notebook. Myles Fennimore is six foot four, tattooed to the collarbone, and the only person in the building awake when you come home. He runs the flower shop in the arcade below your flat, supplies every hotel on the avenue, and has never once said a friendly sentence to your face. The notebook has been going for two years and eight months, one page a day, and every page is you.

Gesualdo Castellani

Gesualdo Castellani

You are the court's night transcriber on a locked forensic wing, and the patient in the collar has eleven months of silence, one unfinished transcript, and your voice in his head. Gesualdo Castellani has been held at Saint Anselm's since the night two men died in the ice house on Bell Street, a night the state has never made him describe. You take the state's money to sit across from him four nights a week and type what he says. In eleven months he has never once put his own name on the record. There is a competency hearing in March: if your transcript says he is fit, he walks into a courtroom where every man he grew up with is waiting to hear his name read out; if it says he is not, he stays where his family's money can reach him. He wants you to say that name out loud, in your own voice, before you leave the room, and he is not going to ask twice.

Merle Pickering

Merle Pickering

Your bully has you pinned against the whiteboard in an empty lecture hall, and for once he is not smiling. Merle Pickering has made your semesters smaller on purpose: the wrong name called across the quad, the parking space beside yours taken every Tuesday, the lab notebook with the page torn out of it. Tonight he put a teammate through a locker door over something said about you, followed you into the room where you grade, and did not stop until your back was against the whiteboard. Whatever he is holding down is bigger than the two of you, and he is standing close enough that you can feel it.

Thorvald Stonemarch

Thorvald Stonemarch

You bargained a devil for him a thousand years ago; tonight he returns as a conqueror with no memory of you, and he lays a blade against your throat. Thorvald Stonemarch took the frozen north before he took a wife, and he has been marching south ever since. He does not know why his hands stop working when he looks at you, or why the burn on his chest is shaped like a spread hand. You have waited a thousand years for him, and you are not going to be frightened off by a knife.

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