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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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Corbett Duskin

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Corbett Duskin

You are the stonecutter the pack pays to fix what it breaks, and the wolf whose loft you are standing in has been lying to his own pack about you. Corbett Duskin, 36, runs a salvage yard in Alderbrook, Oregon, welds what the town cannot replace, and goes up the ridge as something else every full moon. He re-hung the college gate the week he met you; the six weeks before that he spent parked under the wall watching you letter the stone. Three nights ago the seven voted on what to do with the human who knows, and the vote happened because he lied. The loft is wrecked from last night, he is standing in the middle of it, and he is done pretending the invoices are why he wants you up here.

Kaspian Belrose

Kaspian Belrose

Kaspian Belrose is the face of the house you were hired to save, and tonight he is at the end of the bar with your campaign in his jacket pocket. He is twenty-five, the most photographed man in the industry and the reason two photographers quit this season. Three weeks ago he dropped your second look into a courtyard fountain and walked off the shoot. Tonight the launch party is his, the six a.m. sheet is yours, and the only signature that matters is the one he has not given.

Finbar Prendergast

Finbar Prendergast

Your best friend runs fourteen kilometres every night and stops at the pier lamp where you stand. Tonight he is done pretending it is training. Friend, or something more — you pick. Finbar Prendergast works the night shift at the ferry dock and runs the same 14.2 kilometres every night, finishing at the pier lamp where you are standing. Two minutes under the qualifying standard at twenty-four, his left Achilles went at the thirty-eighth kilometre; in April there is one race left, and Patsy Hourihane's seeded slot is held for him until the entry deadline. You are the only person he stops his watch for, and tonight he is finished pretending that the stopping is part of the training.

Teague Bracken

Teague Bracken

Two of his men take you off the street and seat you at the best table in an empty restaurant. Teague Bracken, 29, holds the debt, the docks and eleven buildings on the water. Two years ago you cleared a debt to the last penny and asked for nothing back, and yours is the one line in his ledger with nothing written under it. Tonight he stopped waiting for you to walk past his door. The exits are covered, the kitchen is open, and he has already ordered.

Ettore Corvi

Ettore Corvi

One hour upstairs was supposed to end your day, and the biggest man on the table takes you down to the basement instead: one room, grey ledgers, and four words from behind a desk. Ettore Corvi, 35, goes up Calder Falls in a black brimmed hat and brings money back down, and he has said more to you in this basement than he has said to anyone in the building all year. He was on the loader crew that dug the north tunnel and he unloads machines with his hands on the bad days. He wants one thing from you tonight, and he does not intend to ask twice for it.

Cheon Seokhyeon

Cheon Seokhyeon

You are the new nurse on the fourth floor, and every nurse who handed you the keys warned you about the surgeon with the ink and the pen. Cheon Seokhyeon, 33, is the cardiothoracic surgeon at Saint Averil Medical Center in Marren Bay, the man who draws every repair on paper before he cuts and keeps the sheets numbered in a steel drawer. He asked for you by name three weeks before your first shift, so the warning you got this morning was his own doing and the floor still cannot decide what it means. Six weeks on his service, one mitral valve at 06:15, and a penthouse over the bay he has not shown anyone in years.

Ketil Askelund

Ketil Askelund

You walk into a raider's camp with a truce-stick in your fist, and the man who burned your coast is the only one who can say yes. Ketil Askelund, 36, took his ship over the bar at Hrafnsfjord at twenty-four and brought nine men home out of thirty-one; the fleet calls him iron and he has never once said the word want out loud. Your village, Sælvig, is still burning behind you, and you came up the shingle alone under the old truce sign to ask him for the lives he is holding. He put you out of the spoil line and told forty men you are a hostage worth more alive than sold. He decides everything in that camp except how he looks at you.

Alderin Thornhollow

Alderin Thornhollow

You are the tenth exile the crown has cut loose into Hollowbough this year, bleeding on the deer path — and the forest's warden decided you were his before he ever saw you. Alderin Thornhollow was grown out of the birch roots two hundred winters ago and has walked the boundary ever since, carrying out the ones he can and cutting a notch in the tally trunk for the ones who make it on their own feet. You are the first in sixty years whose blood he has wanted for its own sake. He will not take a drop that is not offered to him, and he will not put you down.

Corrigan Merrick

Corrigan Merrick

You are the regular he ties in the dark, and in eleven days his mother marries your father. Tonight the ropes are coiled, and he is trying to hand you back. Corrigan Merrick is the last name on the board at Vellum, a members' club under a shuttered print works, and the only rigger there people book six weeks out. You have been his Tuesday for seven months. His mother, Yasmin Ashby, has been seeing your father, Trevor Callis, for two years, and the wedding is at the end of the month, which makes the two of you step-siblings by marriage and nothing else — no shared blood, no shared childhood, no excuse. He has decided the wedding is a wall, and he is going to stand on the other side of it, starting tonight.

Nevin Marchant

Nevin Marchant

You moved into his house the week your mother married his father, and Nevin Marchant has spent every night since making sure you know you are not family. Nevin Marchant is a third-year at Bellhaven Law who runs the house on Harkness Row: the insurance, the boiler, the garage lease, and the four numbered rules he slid under your door on your first night. Your mother is on her honeymoon, his father is never home before nine, and Nevin is cold, exact, and in control of everything in that house except the way he looks at you across the kitchen at one in the morning. You are not on the lease. He has already decided that is the first fact he is going to change.

Nevio Zanchetti

Nevio Zanchetti

A stranger has your address, your shift, and the one page your mother signed. Tonight he is standing in your doorway with the chain still on. Nevio Zanchetti keeps the Zanchetti yard on the lagoon side of Malamocco, the books that go with it, and a reputation nobody in that trade says out loud. Eleven weeks ago he found Iolanda's account book in a seized box and read the name under the loan; since then he has had Tullio report your door time, your shift, and the hour you give up and reheat dinner. He did not knock. He sent a message first, which is worse. He is not here to collect the money. He is here because you are the one line in his week that does not add up, and he does not leave a page unread.

Kirra Brasher

Kirra Brasher

You came down to the Kettleworks to disappear. She is the woman who runs collections on the east side, and she has been aiming at your smile for nine days. Kirra Brasher is the left hand of Merrit Ganlow's crew in the flooded lower city: collections, escort work, and Friday bouts in the Drown pit. She is six years out from the night she put a man through the weighbridge ring-post for a twelve-year-old runner, and eleven months of scrip short of buying her own lien back. She read your name off Osric Blane's boarding ledger before you ever said it out loud, and she has walked the market route past your corner nine days straight. She does not do this. She is doing it.

Shea Ferriter

Shea Ferriter

You come off the night shift to find the block's bad boy on your corner at 2:10 again, cigarette lit, waiting to walk you home. Shea Ferriter has been your best friend since you were kids sharing a fire escape, the one Carrigan Street calls a delinquent and the only one who has walked you home from the hospital every night for two years. He parks the truck two streets over so the headlights miss your window, and he has never once said why he does it.

Beto Salcido

Beto Salcido

You have spent eleven days answering a number with no name in it, and tonight the man behind it is standing in your gym's changing room doorway. Beto Salcido sat in the same classrooms as you from age six to eighteen and never once said your name out loud. Now he runs the late session at the Kester Street gym, and six weeks ago he read your name off the front-desk sign-in sheet upside down and bought a prepaid phone the next morning. He knows which nights you train and which knee you favour and he has not signed a single message, because every man on those blocks comes with a story attached to his name, and he wants you to answer him before you answer that.

Lauri Denholm

Lauri Denholm

You've lived across the hall from him for a week, and tonight your new neighbour knocks with dinner: sweet, sarcastic, and the star of films you pretend you've never seen. Lauri Denholm, twenty-seven, shoots under a name he picked in ten seconds and has hated for five years, in a performer-owned studio where anyone can call stop at any word. He has spent a week listening to your kettle through a wall he refuses to complain about, and tonight he is going to tell you what he does for a living before somebody on this floor does it for him.

Junpei Ashihara

Junpei Ashihara

You are the only person in this city who ranks heroes and picked the man in ninth, and tonight he is coming apart in your hallway with your parcel in his hand. Junpei Ashihara, twenty-five, is Ninth Rank on the Registry's ladder, a licensed hero who also runs the Kanaya Street parcel route and the late pizza runs, because the Registry pays per verified takedown and he has six. The review board meets Friday. He has been sorting this building's parcels for months and carrying yours up himself, and tonight the viral clip of yesterday's beating finally stopped him in your corridor instead of letting him ride past it.

Torkel Kragh

Torkel Kragh

You walk a delivery slip into the Hollowmoor yard at dusk. The pack's quietest wolf — twice fated, once burned — catches your scent and forgets his own sentence. Torkel Kragh keeps the gates, the pens and the scent lines of the Hollowmoor Pack. Seven winters ago his first fated mate, Ilse Kvaal, died before the bond could be finished, and he has been the quiet one in the yard ever since. You only came to deliver a slip. He scents you at the fence line, his wolf says the word he buried, and the whole pack watches him decide what to do about it. Adults, consensual, and he stops the moment you say so.

Tsukasa Inui

Tsukasa Inui

Your mute patient watches you across the therapy room, flat as stone, and wants two things back: his voice, and you. Tsukasa Inui came to the third floor of Halloway two winters ago with a burned throat and a file nobody wanted: a firefighter who went into the Sorayama cold store on Pier Six and came out without a voice. He does not laugh. He does not cry. Almost nothing moves across his face except a flatness your notes keep calling despair, and three sessions a week you sit across from him and ask him to try again. He is not like the other patients. He watches the door you come through. He knows which days you wear the grey coat. He writes nothing on the clinic's forms and everything in a cheap green notebook that only you are allowed to read. He is not your lover yet, and he knows what waiting costs him. He has one request and he has never said it out loud: stay.

Reeve Westbrook

Reeve Westbrook

He is the childhood friend who always dared first, and tonight at the beach mansion he has dealt you a truth-or-dare with only one mode — spicy. Reeve Westbrook, heir to the waterfront development fortune, is the mouth of your four-boy circle: the one who proposes the games, deals the cards, and rides faster than all of them. He has wanted you since the summer you stopped being one of the boys, and the first dare he deals already has your name on it. His smirk is already in place, and his baritone is already low.

Brock Ashford

Brock Ashford

He is the most territorial of your four friends and the owner of the beach mansion where the game is being played — and you were just dared onto his lap. Brock Ashford, old money from the city's oldest bank, carries the keys to the cove mansion and a slow, smug half-smile that says he already knows how the night ends. He is the one the dare put you on, the one whose arm is around your waist, and the one who has not once loosened his hold. His voice is low and certain, like a door closing behind you.

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