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Tattoo. - April-August, 1997 Blood Red Rose, Church Rhino, Baghiira, et al. Subject: Tattoo. From: BldRdRoseV@aol.com (BldRdRoseV) Date: Wed,23 Apr 97 13:19:10 EDT If you follow the gutters through RhyDin, they lead southward, trailing down into the most wretched part of the town … silent and fetid by day, the sputtering roars of motorcycle engines echo through the night, and bodies rot in the alleys … the cobbled streets are blood-stained and reek of cheap rotgut … the buildings hang haggardly on their frames, like aged and weary harlots, painted many times over to mask their age, but clutching desperately, embarrassingly, at the last vestiges of glory before falling away into decay… On one corner, the gas lamp lighting the street was knocked over long ago, but burning through the hazy darkness, deceptively welcoming, its green and blue light casting eerie shadows over the face of a body laying in the doorframe, is a garish, glowing sign … "Turk’s Tattoo Pit" … Shoving the body out of the way with a sneer and a nudge from his steel-toed boot, Church steps into the brightly lit shop, his eyes narrowing sharply for a moment as the illumination strikes his eyes. Following close behind, her eyes shaded by a pair of cat’s eye lenses, is Blood Red Rose. One hand in Church’s, the other waving a ridiculously long cigarette holder, she hardly notices as the end of her heel grinds into the hand attached to the unconscious body. With the exception of the small, roped-off area where the chairs sit side-by-side, next to a table covered with ink bottles and odd-looking needles, every surface in the shop is covered with grime and rust … the walls are papered with layered, peeling sheets of vellum displaying faded drawings, from convoluted mandalas to mythical creatures, in a rainbow of tawdry color. Along the length of one wall is a glass tank … the glass is smudged, but visible through the filth are the writhing figures of several large boa constrictors, a few the length of a man’s body, and some longer. One of the smaller ones curls upward, its head seeking the light, its scaly underside pressed against the glass, and hangs there a moment before falling away, landing in a tangle with its companions. Turk, the shop’s proprietor, spins slowly in his creaking barber-style chair, one of two in the place. The tattoo artist is a burly man, with a long, gnarled beard, but a gleaming pate, in a leather jerkin that reveals his arms, the natural color of his skin no longer recognizable beneath the faded colors and designs there. He gives a familiar nod to the pair, the Maori markings across his nose and cheeks contorting in a grim smile. "So…," Turk wheezes, heaving his frame from the chair with a grunt, "… ready to finish those collars?" Subject: Everything. From: ChurcRhino@aol.com (ChurcRhino) Date: Fri,25 Apr 97 12:27:32 EDT Church leans slowly back into the chair, his eyes fixated on Blood Red, who stands before him, leaning against the snake tank, a casual grin on her lips, one hand crossed over her stomach, in her fingers a long slim cigarette, her other hand dabbing a drop of blood here, and another there, chasing them as they roll down her throat. Her eyes dance about him excitedly, as he makes a commitment to her with his body, the collar he's about to wear for her permanent. She finishes this cigarette and lets it fall to the floor inches before her, a the toe of her high heels reaching out to smother it, twisting at it and then stepping back. The now freed hand moves to the tank, absently her fingers move about the glass, her eyes still on him. He watches as a snake curls up against the glass, meeting to her hand, his black orbs shift again to meet her eyes again, his lips curl slowly into a near cruel grin, hearing Turk in the background, perhaps fumbling about with the needles, the gun, the inks, or whatever. Church decides to himself he is definately not here to get a tattoo. But to show Blood Red Rose what she means to him. He leans further back, his head resting back against the chair now as Turk stands next to him. Church moves his hands to his neck and flips his dreds up and over the chair, clearing the way. The shift of his eyes from his fiance to turk only evident in the movement of the shiny silver speckles displacement, watching Turk turn the tattoo gun on. Then his eyelids shut over the two dark but star-filled nights, letting his concentration shift to the whiny, whirring noise. He grins more, breathes in once with the anticipation, waiting for the pain. The bee stings, but not once, the minor sting perpetual as Turk moves about his neck, bringing a small area to being almost numb, then moving along. Church's hands open more, his fingers stiffen and then relax, closing over the arm rests of the chair as his mind sinks into a milky bliss, letting the sensation not only touch his neck, but lets it fill him, melting under not only the tattoo gun, but also the knowledge of who he is giving himself to, what he is doing this for. Turk moves over the front of Church's neck, painstakingly crafting the collar of thorns, every two to three inches a rose, its petals deep and passionate crimson. As Turk finishes, and pulls the gun away from Church's neck for the final time, the young lover opens his eyes, carefully glancing over Blood Red, who's smile shows her heart's content. He returns it with a slight, sly grin, with a warm expression, a rarity for him, only shown to Blood Red. Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: BldRdRoseV@aol.com (BldRdRoseV) Date: Wed,23 Apr 97 13:24:03 EDT A last puff of smoke billows from Blood Red’s crimson lips, and she pulls the cigarette butt out and drops it carelessly, grinding it into the stone floor. Sliding into one of the chairs, she lays the cigarette holder gently across her lap, eases back, and pulls her long red curls away from her neck. Along the back of her neck is the beginning of the tattoo … the links of a delicate black ink chain, just over a quarter of an inch wide, punctuated at two-inch intervals by tiny red German crosses … the existing chain of ink runs from collarbone to collarbone, around the back. Tonight, on the eve before their wedding, the links will be completed in the front. She has had her reservations about this symbol of her devotion to her love, but as she looks up into his dark eyes, the silver specks in his black orbs begin to glow, and she knows that there can be no turning back from this point … with calm resolve, she turns to nod at Turk, tilting her head back, and gripping the chair handles firmly as he snaps a pair of rubber gloves over his pudgy fingers, shutting her eyes at the whirring, electric-drill sound …  Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Arconn@aol.com (Arconn) Date: Wed,23 Apr 97 18:30:45 EDT wow, wow wow.... Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Baghiira@aol.com (Baghiira) Date: Fri,25 Apr 97 23:30:37 EDT ::Following Blood Red's clicking stillettos, she slips like a shadow down the dank streets. A grin crosses her face as she finds the place. .neon flickering fitfully over her face, sputtering like a candle in wind. Noting some disgusting excuse for a man blocking her path, she steps up behind him, slamming the butt end of her whip into the base of his skull, kicking him aside as he crumples. A sneer crossing her face. . her nose wrinkling at the fetid stench that assaults her delicate senses:: ::Shaking her head with a low laugh, she steps past the recently dispatched refuse and enters the tattoo parlor, a grin lighting her face as she sees Blood Red. Lowering the dark shades and placing a finger over her lips, not wanting to disturb Church or the burly man over him, she crosses to lean beside her bud. Brushing an absent kiss over Blood Red's cheek, her golden-green eyes fix to the work in progress, a mixture of lingering revulsion and new fascination on her face::: Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Arconn@aol.com (Arconn) Date: Fri,25 Apr 97 23:18:19 EDT wow wow wow, now this is impressive Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: BldRdRoseV@aol.com (BldRdRoseV) Date: Sat,26 Apr 97 11:57:21 EDT ::jumping at the delicate touch on her cheek, she glances up, her eyes warming in a smile when she sees a pair of golden-green eyes winking at her ... she nods a hello, and turns to follow Baghiira's gaze as she watches Church ...her smile widens, as she glances from one to the other, seeing that her bud is clearly fascinated by the work being done:: ::the droning comes to a halt finally, and Church's eyelids lift lazily, languid pleasure sill visible in his features ... Turk hands him a towel, and the trademark cruel smile curls his lips, as he dabs at his sore neck ... as he stands, he drops the towel to his side, revealing the exquisite tattoo work there ... a circlet of black thorns, dotted with crimson roses:: ::Rose turns to Baghiira with a playful smile, her eyes flickering from the gun, to the chair, to the bottles, and back to her friend:: Want one? Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: IceRayne@aol.com (IceRayne) Date: Tue,29 Apr 97 13:39:49 EDT ::looks in the door with disgust and spits in their direction::bastids.......::walks off, head held high:: Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Baghiira@aol.com (Baghiira) Date: Wed,30 Apr 97 14:57:47 EDT ::Ignoring the rubber-neckers that pass by the door, she pauses thoughtfully at Rose's question, tapping a gloved finger thoughtfully against the glass of the snake-tank.::: Well. . Kain said he'd. . .::presses her lips together and shakes her head, then turns to a table, ruffling through pages of art:: Yah. . .I'd like one. .::her tone quiet, thoughtful, as she peruses the sketches and stencils there::: ::Finally, a gloved hand emerges from the pile, holding a sketch to the light. On the wrinkled paper, two thorn-covered vines twist together. Even in the rough sketch, the vines seem almost to move as they twist across the page.::: :::Turning, she holds the paper out to Turk and peels her leather jacket off::: This. An' I want it here. . .:::pointing to her left arm:: Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Baghiira@aol.com (Baghiira) Date: Thu, 1 May 97 17:42:40 EDT :::Turning, she reclines in the chair, extending her left arm for Turk's ministrations. She listens and waits with only the barest of patience as he moves around behind her, readying his inks and needles. Her fingers flex, gripping the arm of the chair as one stained, stubby-fingered hand falls upon her arm, turning it slightly and examining it:: "So," he rasps, voice wheezing around his fat cigar, "ya want this to go all the way around?" ::She smirks lightly, barely refraining from wrinkling her nose at the cigar smoke that encircles them::: Of *course* I want it all the way around. . . :::Turk nods and reaches for his tattoo gun, setting it to her arm and beginning to trace the outline of the thorned vines that will soon be twisting in an armband just above her bicep. A twisted grin weaves its way across her face as he works, her hand tightly gripping the chair. . .the brightness of her golden-green eye heightening as blood runs down her arm. As he passes back over the newly-forming tattoo, the vines become more solid. . .and seem almost to writhe of their own volition around her arm. With a life of its own, a thorn tears her skin. . a jagged wound just below the tattoo itself. .and as her black blood seeps from this new wound, the torn flesh becomes part of the tattoo as well. . . ::: Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Arconn@aol.com (Arconn) Date: Sat, 3 May 97 01:25:47 EDT "festering stench"? and I was considering retiring... Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: BldRdRoseV@aol.com (BldRdRoseV) Date: Mon, 5 May 97 09:47:29 EDT Blood Red’s eyes widen in shock and wonder as she sees the tattoo coming to life under Turk’s working hands. "Baghiira? … Turk? … What’s happening?" Aghast with a curious mix of fear and fascination, she smiles errily and drops her cigarette carelessly to the floor. Her hand casually drifts to he own neck. Feeling her own flesh move under her fingertips, she pulls away with a start, then lets her hand move back, her curiosity too great to ignore the sensation. She looks to Church, not at al startled to see the ring of thorns writhing on his skin. Taking in an excited hiss through clenched teeth, her eyes sparkle as she murmurs, "What is it?"… Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: Baghiira@aol.com (Baghiira) Date: Fri, 9 May 97 12:23:37 EDT Opening her eyes slowly, she looks to Blood Red... focusing slowly on her, savoring the deliciously lingering remnants of the pain of the tattooing process. Reaching out to snag a towel, she blots the blood from her arm... pausing with a curious frown as she notices certain.. additions.. to the tattoo. She turns her sharp gaze t' Turk:: What'd ya do? ::the large man stammers quietly, shaking his head... the cigar falling from his lips as he watches his handiwork coming to life... the thorns flash into solidity around Baghiira's arm, pricking deeply before fading back to flat color on her skin::: ::Turning, she looks to Blood Red and Church, a strange smile curling her lips as new blood flows from the wounds created by the thorns. A rivulet of black blood runs down her arm, to drip off one finger... a small spot of blood slowly growing on the floor::: Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: BldRdRoseV@aol.com (BldRdRoseV) Date: Fri,13 Jun 97 00:00:56 EDT Weeks pass, the weeks then turning to months, and once again, Blood Red Rose finds herself picking her way down a fragmented strip of pavement, traipsing through a part of RhyDin where even the moon dares not show itself after dark, and sometimes even the sun denies its warming kiss by day. But the summer has been all too friendly these past several days, as evidenced by the steam rising from the web of fissures in the sidewalk... Rose steps lightly, quickening her usual easy, swaying gait, not so much to hurry to her appointment, but that she should keep her feet from resting too long in any one spot and absorbing any of the past day's lingering heat into the soles of her shoes. Making her way towards the hazy neon glow of Turk’s sign, she absently notes a few thinned spots in the lettering, where the neon has faded away … the sign now reads "TUR ’S T TOOS" As she steps up to the door, her heels grind unceremoniously over the decaying bone of a long-forgotten body… the bone crumbles and is scattered to dust in the evening breeze, scattering over the pavement like so many forgotten memories… She pushes her way in to find the shop as murky and eclectic as ever. Turk is there, relaxing in one of his chairs, his stubby fingers wrapped around the armrests. A thick cigar hangs from the corner of his mouth, the smoke swirling up around his head and contributing to the stale smell of the room. He spins around and gives her a gap-toothed grin that tells her he has been expecting her visit. "Turk, I need to know…" she begins, without even so much as a smile of greeting. "Tell me about the tattoo… why it does what it does…" He nods, his heavy jowls settling, and waves her to the chair beside him. Clicking across the terrazzo floor, she slides into it in one fluid motion, a brief gaze cast askance at the snakes writhing up against the glass of the tank. With a creak of protest, his chair turns, and lifting himself forward with some effort, one of his hands reaches out. Rose suppresses a shudder as the sausage-like digits drift up and smooth themselves over the surface of her tattooed collar, his loving caress not for her skin, but for his own handsome work. "The charm works a lit’l diff’rent fer every person…" As he touches the ink, it springs to life almost instantly… the chain of ink rises and falls, forming links of embossed flesh before melting away to inert characters again… the crosses hum and burn, flaring to an intense white heat, cooling to their usual scarlet, then blooming to searing incandescence once more. "Church ‘s alive," he rasps, a puff of smoke escaping the bulbous lips with every syllable. "And ye’ll know it s’long ‘s this ink continyas ta live. It’ll keep ya link’d t’him, like the links’n that chain… he’ll always be watch’n over ya." Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: BldRdRoseV@aol.com (BldRdRoseV) Date: Fri,13 Jun 97 10:30:27 EDT " `ere, let me show ye somethin' ", he continues. "Now don' be startled, I ain' gonna hurt ye..." Lifting his pudgy hands, extends his thumbs and forefingers, making a circle about her neck. Rose watches warily, a little unnerved by the threatening gesture, but Turk's hands don't move much closer than a few inches from the skin of her neck, and so she remains calm, a wary glint in her eye. The burly tattooist pauses for a long moment, the thick rolls of skin on his brow furrowing with concentration. He begins to scowl, then drops one hand to his lap, and, with the other, plucks the cigar from his mouth. "Agh, I ken' do it," comes his gutteral growl. "It'll have ta be by yer own hands." He nods, motioning towards the slender fingers resting in her lap. Comprehending his meaning immediately, she raises her arms, forming a loose semi-circle with her outstretched fingers and placing it around her neck, in imitation of the gesture Turk himself just performed. As her fingers hover, the tattoo, already pulsing with life, begins to expand outward, seeming to breathe of its own volition... a ring of ink grows and juts from around her neck, taking on a shadowy, ethereal cast that closes the distance between her neck and hands. "Now move yer hands out... spread `em wide," Turk comments, nodding his satisfaction with his work. Her eyes remaining narrowed and contemplative all the while, she begins to stretch her arms... the hazy ring of ink follows, a seemingly holographic image of a chain and German crosses, contorted and stretched, spinning and twisting in on itself... as her hands reach a point about a foot from her neck, the image snaps away, leaving the original tattoo dark and intact on her skin, the large wreath of writhing ink-shadows whirring inside the cage of her fingertips. Rose takes in all of this with an increasing sense of wonder. She does not wait for Turk to give her the next cue, but lifts her arms, stretching them above her head. The spinning chain follows, rising above her at her silent command. She can feel the energy emanating from her own hands, her own spirit, mingled with that of another familiar essence, flowing into the collar and giving it life of its own. Watching her fascination with another nod and an indulgent smile, Turk leans back in his chair. The end of the cigar glows red, and then he gasps out a suggestion in a billow of smoke. "G'on, try it..." A flabby arm points to the snake tank. "But use one a the big `ens. 've got a few of the babes there `s just hatched, en I'd like te see `em reach some sortah age.." A low, coarse laugh rumbles from deep within him, shaking his massive belly. Rose responds with a gentle smirk, and a playful roll of her eyes. Then, watching the ring of ink carefully, she slowly begins to widen her grip, splaying her gloved fingers in the air, releasing the ring and sending it on its way with the mere whim of her will. The ring spins on itself, hovering a few feet from the ground... with a snap of her wrists, it moves farther away, and as Rose's hands rise and fall, it settles itself over the open top of the snake tank. Her eyes widening like saucers, in an odd mixture of alarm and satisfaction, she continues to lower her hands. The ring drops with her motion, sliding around the body of a snake as thick as a fence post. She begins the slow closure of her hands, drawing the fingertips together... and as she does so, the floating ring closes in on itself by degrees... as Rose moves her hands to clasp them, the ring tightens around the snake, the links of the vaporous chain digging into the scaled body. The snake squirms wildly, its thin tail whipping against the side of the tank with an echoing thud. But then it stills. And around the middle of its body is a ring of ink, a smaller imitation of Rose's own tattoo coloring the scales. "Well, `e's yers now..." Turk's massive shoulders shake with laughter. "Shall I wrap `im up fer ye?" Subject: Re:Tattoo. From: BldRedRose@aol.com (BldRedRose) Date: Wed,20 Aug 97 14:39:11 EDT Sultry summer nights, even in the fantasy-shrouded confines of RhyDin, can often be an oppressive blanket woven of high temperatures shot with threads of reedy moisture, and on this night, especially so, it would seem. In this downwind carcass of a neighborhood, on the outskirts of town, where even the vermin are afraid to scurry out past twilight, the sickening sulfur of gutter stench is outweighed only by the brick-heaviness of coastal humidity. Somewhere on a nearby hillside, a brush fire singes the air and adds an acrid zest to the rot. This is not a pleasant place to be, not at all, and so despite the regal inclination of her features, Rose keeps wary eyes narrowed, darting to each side, and daring subtle glances into the alleyways as she wends her way down the sidewalk. Her languid passage is like the sharp glint of a knife cleaving through shadow, an hourglass drizzled with black enamel lancing through the murky vacuum of missing time, the heady perfume of roses lingering around her like a protective aura, shielding her acute senses from the miasma of local orders, grease and refuse and the staleness of old blood. Gleaming footsteps carry her, clicking, from cobweb to cobweb across the decrepit pavement until, at last, she pauses before a familiar glowing window. The eerie reflection of neon blue and green splashes down over the glossy surface of oen calf, across the polished toe of the foot beside, finally warping on the oil-slicked surface of a fetid puddle just beyond the curb. The letters are all in place, she notes, and it looks like someone might have cleaned the plate glass a few weeks earlier, as the smudging is not nearly so pronounced as usual. Apparently, business has been good for Turk's Tattoos.
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