07-26-2014, 04:12 PM
Picking a tattoo for someone wasn't really what he did. They were very personal. They had meaning for the person who got them, an emotional connection- well most of them did. The people who came in wanting a McDonald's tattoo above their ass were just morons. But it was not his job to judge. Well at least not verbally. In his own mind he did though, at least for that kind of stuff.
But most people wanted something they could relate to, that represented a place in their journey, a waypost or a destination or a memory. He liked doing those. When worked, skillfully following the trace, he felt a connection to the person, as if he had been allowed to be guest in their life, to share in those precious moments of intimacy.
He loved that feeling. A lifetime of solitude and running had kept him distant from everyone, beginning with his dad. A drunk and absent father, he'd never shown the slightest interest in him. Mom had died when he was young, so it had been just the two of them. And Lucas craved a connection with his dad- but he never got it. Growing up, he didn't have friends either and had began self-medicating just like dad. Soon, he had graduated to the harder stuff, craving the oblivion and emptiness it offered. He'd become so desperate that he'd even starting selling himself to get the money he needed for his fix. When dad found out- in a rage that seemed uncharacteristic after years of not caring- he'd thrown him out. He'd lived on the streets the next couple years, doing whatever and whomever he could for a chance to escape.
In the end, he was laying cold in an alley, face pallid and body weak, the chill of new winter just beginning, when Valentin found him and took him home. At first, Lucas had thought he'd found a sugar daddy and a way to pay for his drugs. But Valentin was not like that. Valentin helped him sober up and find himself. He'd saved his life, had given him a life really. After all those years, Lucas felt what it was like to have a father who cared and it had set him free. His life the past three years had been a hard fight, but it was worth it. Now, he was an art student and also owned this tattoo shop.
And each person that came in for a tattoo that meant something was someone he connected with. He looked the woman older. She was hard, closed off, private. The way she held herself said that too him. But the eyes, they said something else. He had seen that look in the mirror for years, the empty and desperately lonely look of a person who had no one to care for them. It didn't hurt that she was very pretty in a predatory sort of way. But he was drawn to desperate pain and loneliness. When he saw that look in person's eyes, it became his focus to help them, to connect with them, to show them what Valentin had shown him. There were people who cared.
So what did she want? What did she need? She had a tattoo she wanted to keep, but embellish upon. It was hard to alter existing work- at least to alter it and expand on it when you didn't know what it meant. "Okay. Well...to add to this, I need to know what this is. What does it mean to you? Why did you get it?"
He frowned at her, looking at her. He hoped she understood. Or if she understood, he hoped she'd tell him. It was the difference between suggestions that would mean something and just something random. "Is it something you are rejecting now or has it come to have added meaning for you?"
Aria frowned. "I had no choice in the matter."
Aria knew that wasn't going to cut it. She knew he'd keep trying for more. His frown spoke volumes and Aria could feel the disappointment. "It's something of a right of passage. You only get it if you are worthy."
She sighed. "It's WHO I am now."
She may doubt her cause, but that's all she was, she was only Atharim.
He was not really surprised at her short answer. People often needed prodding or time to feel comfortable with their artist. This was a collaboration, though they didn't always realize it. And finding a piece for her, to add to the existing one, was going to be a project.
"So you've embraced something that was forced on you. Are you happy with that?"
That wasn't really what he wanted to ask her. Or at least not that way. She lived in pain and loneliness. Part of that had to be the life that this knotted snake represented. He wanted to know if she wanted more than that, more than just being what she was.
"Here, let me show you something.
He took his shirt off, heedless of the chill in the shop. Living on the streets had inured him to the cold. A serpentine dragon, in the Asian style, rounded his arm- sharp talons on his bicep- over his shoulder and onto his chest, the head in the center of his chest, another talon just above his heart. Black, gold, blue, red and silver colored the tattoo, making a vivid beast that usually lay nestled and hidden in his bosom. "This took three sessions and hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. But it was therapy. I had left a terrible life and been reborn. This is my heart, my soul. It is hidden to most people. The only ones who see it are those I open up to. I rejected my past life and embraced a new one of openness and trust."
He touched the forehead of the creature in the center of his chest while looking at her. "Being open to people means risking getting hurt. He guards my heart and protects me. As long as I know it's there, I'm ok with taking the risk. It's what I've chosen to become."
He narrowed his eyes at her, searching hers for a clue as to what she wanted. "I can find something to enhance this, to say that you have embraced it. But is that all that you want, what this represents?"
Aria took objection to being forced upon her. "It wasn't forced on me. I accepted it."
The anger fled as he took off his shirt. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She pushed all emotion away inside the bubble, except him. Aria could feel the do-good nature, he wanted to help. And inside, Aria knew she needed it. The pain that had come from the tattoo had to have been intense, Aria wanted to touch but she kept her hands at her side. To feel the pain, like she had with the manuscript, the need was almost too great.
His words cut deeply, he spoke as if he knew her. She felt the pain of the memories and the strength in his words. It was pride he'd made it through. Aria smiled, though it was faint. She wasn't exactly sure what to say. She didn't know him. But how much had she actually known Dane. The thought of his name brought back the memories. The pain, the suffering she'd inflicted up on that reporter.
Aria bit her bottom lip in concentration. She wasn't sure what to say anymore than before. "I've not embraced anything. It just is who I am."
She sighed. "There is a struggle between who I am, and what I can be."
Aria didn't look up at him, she stared at the wall in front of her. She gave a curt laugh. "Almost like good and evil fighting inside. At least that's how it feels."
It was exactly that, the light and the darkness fighting inside. The pull of the Atharim, versus the totality of the human race, gifts and all, everything pulling at her in so many directions. Something would win in the end, but Aria had no idea which way the cards would fall.
He turned at looked at her. She stared at the wall. So she was torn in two directions. He knew that feeling. It hadn't been good and evil in his case. It was more mundane. But he knew it all the same, the struggle and fight for mastery of himself and his cravings. He watched her steadily refuse to look at him. He didn't put his shirt on. He wanted her to see him like this, open and exposed and unafraid.
"The darkness is easy. It calls and all we have to do is give in to whatever it asks. It demands no sacrifice on our part. It calls us to do whatever we want and fuck the consequences to others."
He meant to be crude in his language. He wanted to shock her with it's coarse and uncaring nature.
"The light makes us fight. It beckons us to a destination."
He watched her for her reaction. His own struggles were in his mind now, the two years of fighting to get control of his hunger, to recreate himself. "We struggle and fight. Sometimes we fall and people are hurt. Sometimes it's too hard and we want to give up."
He reached his hand out and touched her arm. "But as long as we never give up fighting, clawing our way out of the darkness, we have not lost.
He walked around to stand in front of her. "Don't give up."
He looked into her green eyes, seeing all that pain. It drew him, the hunger to remove it, to help her. He touched her cheek. It was an intimate and forward thing to do. He couldn't care less. The Dragon guarded him. "I know what to do. Do you trust me?"
But most people wanted something they could relate to, that represented a place in their journey, a waypost or a destination or a memory. He liked doing those. When worked, skillfully following the trace, he felt a connection to the person, as if he had been allowed to be guest in their life, to share in those precious moments of intimacy.
He loved that feeling. A lifetime of solitude and running had kept him distant from everyone, beginning with his dad. A drunk and absent father, he'd never shown the slightest interest in him. Mom had died when he was young, so it had been just the two of them. And Lucas craved a connection with his dad- but he never got it. Growing up, he didn't have friends either and had began self-medicating just like dad. Soon, he had graduated to the harder stuff, craving the oblivion and emptiness it offered. He'd become so desperate that he'd even starting selling himself to get the money he needed for his fix. When dad found out- in a rage that seemed uncharacteristic after years of not caring- he'd thrown him out. He'd lived on the streets the next couple years, doing whatever and whomever he could for a chance to escape.
In the end, he was laying cold in an alley, face pallid and body weak, the chill of new winter just beginning, when Valentin found him and took him home. At first, Lucas had thought he'd found a sugar daddy and a way to pay for his drugs. But Valentin was not like that. Valentin helped him sober up and find himself. He'd saved his life, had given him a life really. After all those years, Lucas felt what it was like to have a father who cared and it had set him free. His life the past three years had been a hard fight, but it was worth it. Now, he was an art student and also owned this tattoo shop.
And each person that came in for a tattoo that meant something was someone he connected with. He looked the woman older. She was hard, closed off, private. The way she held herself said that too him. But the eyes, they said something else. He had seen that look in the mirror for years, the empty and desperately lonely look of a person who had no one to care for them. It didn't hurt that she was very pretty in a predatory sort of way. But he was drawn to desperate pain and loneliness. When he saw that look in person's eyes, it became his focus to help them, to connect with them, to show them what Valentin had shown him. There were people who cared.
So what did she want? What did she need? She had a tattoo she wanted to keep, but embellish upon. It was hard to alter existing work- at least to alter it and expand on it when you didn't know what it meant. "Okay. Well...to add to this, I need to know what this is. What does it mean to you? Why did you get it?"
He frowned at her, looking at her. He hoped she understood. Or if she understood, he hoped she'd tell him. It was the difference between suggestions that would mean something and just something random. "Is it something you are rejecting now or has it come to have added meaning for you?"
Aria frowned. "I had no choice in the matter."
Aria knew that wasn't going to cut it. She knew he'd keep trying for more. His frown spoke volumes and Aria could feel the disappointment. "It's something of a right of passage. You only get it if you are worthy."
She sighed. "It's WHO I am now."
She may doubt her cause, but that's all she was, she was only Atharim.
He was not really surprised at her short answer. People often needed prodding or time to feel comfortable with their artist. This was a collaboration, though they didn't always realize it. And finding a piece for her, to add to the existing one, was going to be a project.
"So you've embraced something that was forced on you. Are you happy with that?"
That wasn't really what he wanted to ask her. Or at least not that way. She lived in pain and loneliness. Part of that had to be the life that this knotted snake represented. He wanted to know if she wanted more than that, more than just being what she was.
"Here, let me show you something.
He took his shirt off, heedless of the chill in the shop. Living on the streets had inured him to the cold. A serpentine dragon, in the Asian style, rounded his arm- sharp talons on his bicep- over his shoulder and onto his chest, the head in the center of his chest, another talon just above his heart. Black, gold, blue, red and silver colored the tattoo, making a vivid beast that usually lay nestled and hidden in his bosom. "This took three sessions and hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. But it was therapy. I had left a terrible life and been reborn. This is my heart, my soul. It is hidden to most people. The only ones who see it are those I open up to. I rejected my past life and embraced a new one of openness and trust."
He touched the forehead of the creature in the center of his chest while looking at her. "Being open to people means risking getting hurt. He guards my heart and protects me. As long as I know it's there, I'm ok with taking the risk. It's what I've chosen to become."
He narrowed his eyes at her, searching hers for a clue as to what she wanted. "I can find something to enhance this, to say that you have embraced it. But is that all that you want, what this represents?"
Aria took objection to being forced upon her. "It wasn't forced on me. I accepted it."
The anger fled as he took off his shirt. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She pushed all emotion away inside the bubble, except him. Aria could feel the do-good nature, he wanted to help. And inside, Aria knew she needed it. The pain that had come from the tattoo had to have been intense, Aria wanted to touch but she kept her hands at her side. To feel the pain, like she had with the manuscript, the need was almost too great.
His words cut deeply, he spoke as if he knew her. She felt the pain of the memories and the strength in his words. It was pride he'd made it through. Aria smiled, though it was faint. She wasn't exactly sure what to say. She didn't know him. But how much had she actually known Dane. The thought of his name brought back the memories. The pain, the suffering she'd inflicted up on that reporter.
Aria bit her bottom lip in concentration. She wasn't sure what to say anymore than before. "I've not embraced anything. It just is who I am."
She sighed. "There is a struggle between who I am, and what I can be."
Aria didn't look up at him, she stared at the wall in front of her. She gave a curt laugh. "Almost like good and evil fighting inside. At least that's how it feels."
It was exactly that, the light and the darkness fighting inside. The pull of the Atharim, versus the totality of the human race, gifts and all, everything pulling at her in so many directions. Something would win in the end, but Aria had no idea which way the cards would fall.
He turned at looked at her. She stared at the wall. So she was torn in two directions. He knew that feeling. It hadn't been good and evil in his case. It was more mundane. But he knew it all the same, the struggle and fight for mastery of himself and his cravings. He watched her steadily refuse to look at him. He didn't put his shirt on. He wanted her to see him like this, open and exposed and unafraid.
"The darkness is easy. It calls and all we have to do is give in to whatever it asks. It demands no sacrifice on our part. It calls us to do whatever we want and fuck the consequences to others."
He meant to be crude in his language. He wanted to shock her with it's coarse and uncaring nature.
"The light makes us fight. It beckons us to a destination."
He watched her for her reaction. His own struggles were in his mind now, the two years of fighting to get control of his hunger, to recreate himself. "We struggle and fight. Sometimes we fall and people are hurt. Sometimes it's too hard and we want to give up."
He reached his hand out and touched her arm. "But as long as we never give up fighting, clawing our way out of the darkness, we have not lost.
He walked around to stand in front of her. "Don't give up."
He looked into her green eyes, seeing all that pain. It drew him, the hunger to remove it, to help her. He touched her cheek. It was an intimate and forward thing to do. He couldn't care less. The Dragon guarded him. "I know what to do. Do you trust me?"