“No.”
I smile. “Yes.”
“Francine, no.”
“Pleaseeeee.”
“You don’t think you have enough?” he cocks a brow. “Do you even have any more space?”
I stare at him. “I was talking about you.”
“Me?!” he examines his skin. “And mess up all this melanin?”
“Just get the goddamn tattoo. Even if it’s a small one.”
“You can’t make me,” he huffs. “It’s my body. My choice.”
I narrow my eyes. “Come on, Bari. Think of all the attention you’ll get.”
He steps closer, voice low. “I get attention by breathing.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “But, I think you’d look good with one.”
That clears it all up.
“What tattoo should I get?” he ask.
The studio is quiet inside,clean, professional. The artist greeted him by name—Of course she does—before she whisks him away and closes the curtains.
I sit in the waiting area, legs crossed, arms folded, trying to pretend I’m not curious because Jabari insists on keeping it as a surprise.
Maybe I could use this time to actually do work.
My phone buzzes with an email notification.
I almost ignore it until I see the sender name and my whole body goes cold.
Elliot Greene from Imaginate Studios
I open it so fast my thumbs fumble.
My eyes race down the screen:
Subject: Obsidian Adaption.
Hi Frankie,
I hope you don’t mind me reaching out directly. I’ve been following your work for a while now, quietly. I played Chastity when it first released, and I watched what happened at the awards.
I want to start by saying this clearly: I don’t think you were “unprofessional.” I think you were frustrated. And from where I’m standing, that frustration makes sense.
There’s a particular kind of voice that doesn’t always fit neatly into award show narratives. It’s sharp. It’s opinionated. It doesn’t dilute itself to be digestible. That’s the voice I felt in your game. That’s also the voice I saw when you walked out.
I respect it.
I’m currently in early development discussions with Imaginate Studios regarding adaptations of my comic series Obsidian. We’ve had a number of pitches from larger studios, but I haven’t felt understood by any of them. Most proposals lean heavily into spectacle and lose the emotional architecture of the story.
Your work doesn’t.
