Realism colour tattoo on a calf of a man in a dark jacket aiming a pistol towards the viewer.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic portrait with pistol on calf

Realism · Calf · Colour · Photo

A realistic portrait of a man with short brown hair aims a black pistol towards the viewer, with his arm extended across the frame. The shading is smooth and detailed, with soft gradients on the face, jacket and gun. Warm skin tones, browns and blacks dominate, set against grey pavement and blue shoes at the edge of the photo.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Wati Hollin swore the stranger had stood at the crossroads for three days, and nobody in Dry Mercy argued, because nobody had been brave enough to walk out and check. On the fourth morning the water seller saw him from the tank. His brown hair was flat with grit, he wore a dark waistcoat over a shirt the colour of old bone, and one arm stretched level across the road with a black pistol at the end of it, its muzzle aimed at the dust cloud rolling in from the east.

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The dust was Corbin's wagon, and Corbin owed money to half the valley. He came on at a walk, reins slack, expecting the road to be empty. The stranger did not move. He only narrowed his eyes the way a man does when he is counting something, and said, quite plainly, 'Turn your team around, friend, and the mule keeps its ears.' Corbin laughed. Wati said later it was the laugh of a man who had never once been looked at like that.

Nobody knows what passed between them after that. Corbin turned the wagon. The road stayed quiet for an hour, and then the stranger walked down to the tank, drank a dipper of water, and paid Wati with a coin nobody in the valley recognised, stamped with a sun that had two faces.

He went back to the crossroads and lifted his arm again. Wati says he is still there, waiting for dust from the east, and that the trick is never to ask him what he is aiming at. The answer is always the same, and it is never you.

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