City of IF

[scissorkitty]

warning: this tale contains swearing, sexuality (possibly) and ambiguous morals. If you are easily offended, this is not the tale for you. If, however, you like an interesting tale, this may be more your speed.

ChapterOne

"Ow, motherfucker!"
The needle bit deep into Leah's shoulder, as she flinched, and brought a scourge of fresh blood to the surface of her already harassed skin. A well of black ink flowed into the open wound, creating a new pattern of pigment against the weeping red.

"Then hold still, you anus. It's not my fault you're such a fucking pansy when it comes to getting ink done on yourself!

The needled buzzed in the background, and continued its unceasing dance as George carefully followed the pre-drawn design. He sighed in frustration at the needless (to him, anyway) detail of the piece, and focused in closer, his nose mere inches from her skin.

"Why'd you have to make this so complicated, Leah?"

"It's not that complicated, dude. It's just that- I don't want my pieces to look like the flash other people are carrying around. I want my stuff to be unique-things that will last me forever, and that I'll like forever."

"I can't believe you usually do this torture yourself.. no, wait! I know exactly why you'd do this yourself, you fucking perfectionist!"

Leah chuckled to herself as she absorbed George's words. It was true- she always did her own inking. The only reason George was doing her back was, well.. it was her back, and no matter how talented she was, there was a limit to her bendiness. At least he was following her design, and she'd be able to finish the lines where they wrapped around her torso afterwards.

They were sitting in her apartment, soaking up the weak winter sun through the old stained glass windows in her living room. The buttery yellow of the walls added false warmth to the otherwise frozen landscape outside. The windowseat she was crouched on, her favourite detail in the old house, creaked a little as she moved. Old lady Geri, below, was probably cursing her already for the noise.

Leah let her mind wander as the needle did the same. She had just bought the gun the other day- a strange find. Always a fan of the odd and the out-of-the-way, Leah had been wandering the shops and stalls of the People's Market down on Fourth street. Held every Wednesday, it had a charming gypsy quality that she could never quite ignore. It had been sunny that day, too, and that had drawn out a bigger crowd of shoppers than usual. The press of bodies, and the overly loud sound of mingled haggling, shopping, and busking musicians had fed her sense of adventure. Slipping off the usual concourse, Leah had let her feet lead her down some of the attached alleyways- also lined with stores and vendors, although the slightly less commercial ones. Across from her favourite vegan cafe- George's sister's business, actually- she had stepped into a little bookstore with a charmingly chipped church-style front door.

The shop had smelled of old books, leather, coffee, and something warm- cat fur, maybe. Like a cat that had been napping by a fire all day. The books were welcoming to her fingertips, warm as well, and the old cast iron grates in the floors sent welcoming gusts of heated air up her pant legs and coat sleeves. Along with reading material, the little shop offered a selection of random antique objects, scattered amongst the shelves, and also arranged in a glass fronted cabinet. That's where the tattoo gun had been napping. She had done a double take when she saw it, the lazy heat and the slight ripple in the glass giving the cords of the gun the impression of being a little green snake, curled and waiting. Despite the age of the gun, something from the 70's most likely, its package was unopened, and contained a full set of brand new, modern pigments and sterile needles.

Until this point, Leah had always borrowed guns from her friends. The idea of having her own at hand filled her with a little thrill of excitement, and her hand trembled slightly as she opened the creaking case and pulled the gun and it's attachments out. The price was low, although not alarmingly so, and it was little more than a not-too-guilty splurge to tip her rent money out onto the counter and head across to the cafe with her new buddy tucked into her haversack.

In the here and now, sequestered away in her windowseat, Leah again felt the little thrill as she listened to the gun work away. It sounded like the chatter of a friendly flock of bees and, forehead pressed against the window as she braced herself for the detail around her spine, she was surprised to feel herself begin to slip into sleep.

"Yo! Dude! Hellooooooo?!"
A slap across her ass woke Leah from her nap, and she was surprised to see the daylight had faded away, the streetlights now providing the only outside illumination.

"Oh! Uh, sorry George. I guess I zoned out there."

"You guess? Fuck. You were OUT! I was a little worried. I've seen big biker dudes react more to spinework than you were doing! But if you're sure you're okay..."

A frown creased George's forehead, combining with his bald scalp, pirate's nose, and dangling ear expander to make him look all the more like Mr.Clean. Leah supressed her giggles, and stretched.

"All done?"

"Yeah, man. As much as you wanted me to do, anyway. Looks sweet!"

Leah stood, knees protesting at last, and craned over her shoulder to look at the hanging mirror on the closet door. From shoulderblades to the top of her lowriders, big, dark wings now blossomed against her skin. She had drawn the design as if the wings were folded in. Given the proportions, if spread out, they would have been double her height. The tips and the side feathers wrapped around her ribs and torso onto the front of her body, and several feathers curled over her biceps. The front bits were still only shown in purple transfer ink.

"Hm. Looks amazing, bro. Thanks so much! I better finish these front bits, though. Looks a bit manky half done, and I'll have a bitch of a time trying to line back up the pattern if I try and do it later." She picked at the untied backstraps of her dangling haltertop, and grinned.
"Dude. You're totally getting a free show, here. I hope you're taking advantage of it!"

Her buddy grinned back at her, blushing a little, and scuffed his boots across the wooden floor.
"Yeah, well.. I might be looking a little more if you actually HAD tits."

"Fuck you! I have boobs! They're just.. just.. "

"Yeah. Whatever, Leah. Nicole Ritchie has more boob than you. Not that I object. I mean, titties are titties, who am I to complain?"

Laughing and swearing, they walked to the french door which served as her entryway. Her private staircase lead down to groundlevel, where a more sturdy oak door kept the outside world at bay.

"Alright, you pirate looking mother fucker-"
She hugged George tightly, and punched his shoulder. "Thanks again, then. When I get implants, I'll let you know."

She snickered at the impossibility as George stared at her, then shrugged and flexed his stiff hands and shoulders. In moments, he was out the door, leaving her alone with her new work to be finished.

[Chinaren]

Quote: warning: this tale contains swearing, sexuality (possibly) and ambiguous morals. If you are easily offended, this is not the tale for you. If, however, you like an interesting tale, this may be more your speed.

Hurrah! My type of tale then. And nice start Skitty! :D

[Crowkiller]

Dont tease me like this. I hope there's more coming! Its brilliant. I might be a bit biased though as I love tattoos as well. Good work!