under the needle
(by vicuņa)
"So," she said sweetly, eyeing him up and down, "is this your first tattoo?"
JL winced a bit as he unbuttoned his office shirt, starched fabric gone
still in his hand. "Ja." At her raised (and quite well-pierced) eyebrow,
he gave her a rueful smile. "Is it obvious?"
"Hardly," the petit skin-artist laughed, tugging on her rubber glove.
Short even for the Japanese, standing at her full height she was maybe as
tall as he was, straddling the chair before her. Her dark hair was even
more close-cut than LJ's, and he had lost count, several minutes ago, of
the myriad intertwining tattoos she had running down both her arms. Most
striking, perhaps, was the image of Saint Francis of Assisi on her
collarbone, that JL found oddly compelling. "You'd be surprised the ink
that some people hide." And she winked at him as he shrugged out of his
shirt, as though he were baring more than just his arms.
It made him smile. Truthfully it was the first tattoo for all of them,
though judging by Lucas' expression of subdued excitement, it was hardly
likely to be their last. Behind him, JL could hear J.J. talking excitedly
to one of the other tattoo artists-- and a sound that might have been
Twist swearing incomprehensibly, something about the alcohol rub-down
being too cold on his bicep. Or that might just have been the music, old
American-style rock that was playing so loudly JL was grateful he wasn't
wearing a pacemaker.
Lucky for them the Rucky Monkey tattoo parlor was big enough to accommodate
the five of them getting inked at once, and small enough to be thrilled
(or at least entertained) to have the Culture Bats on the premises. (Also,
of course, a lesson that JL well knew: one should never underestimate the
power of a reservation-making phone call.)
"Besides," his girl winked, touching a playful finger to the slim silver
ring threaded through his own eyebrow. "Looks like you're no stranger to
the needle, ne?"
Stripped down to his undershirt, with his button-down lying across his
lap, JL tried to muster some sort of dignity, and felt that he quite
failed. "Ah, no." L.L., in the corner closest the window, gave them all
a v-sign as a pretty young thing transferred the Culture Bat logo onto his
bicep. Even in temporary not-yet-inked blue, it looked fabulous-- and JL
thought, maybe for the first time, that this idea of Twist's was a really,
really good one.
"Where'd you get that done, anyway?" Now she was nodding to the piercing
in his ear, the cartilage one, with an appreciative glance. Casually she
slipped into Japanese, but he guessed whatever she said next was a
compliment, judging by her smile.
[Pinprick pupils and a slicing smile. "You're not afraid, are you?"
"Nein." It shuddered across his veins, anticipation and not a little fear.
It was his first.
The pale hands were unshaking, heavy on his shoulder. "It's just a needle."
Smallest trickle of blood, biting his lip. "Do it."
And then the pain, and his brother's laugh, and being proud of himself for
not gasping "Augustine--!"]
"Germany," he said, evasively.
The Franciscan saint above her breast seemed to shiver as she laughed, her
tiny hands steady as her tattoo gun started to hum.
.//back
