Veins Are Red, Veins Are Blue

There's a little button up at the top of the page, marked "gallery", and Gerard clicks on it. It presents him with a handful of different names, presumably the artists in residence, and he skims down the list until he spots it: Frank Iero (horror/gore, traditional American designs). Iero, Gerard thinks, rolling the name around his head like a rosary bead in his palm. Of course the fucker is Italian, because the world is cruel and Gerard's life is hard. With a deep, tortured sigh, he clicks on Frank's name.

In which Frank is a tattoo artist and Gerard is a fearsome and terrifying undead creature of the night. Sort of.