--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
‹Jesse Fforde› The night had been busy, to begin with. There'd been a few bikers in, each getting a new tattoo - they picked one out of the folder out the front and Jesse had, one after the other, marked them. They hadn't got matching tattoos - nothing like that. They just felt like something new. Jesse had done the work, diligent as always. It had taken a couple of hours, and now Jesse was cleaning, making sure the workspace and the machines were all sterile. The bones in his shoulders cracked as he stretched his arms over his head, and rolled his neck, stretching out all the cramped muscles. He could still hear all the bikers out the front. One of them had gone on an alcohol run - he had smelt the alcohol on the breath of those he'd worked on. It didn't bother him much, even though the form they filled out asked whether they'd had anything to drink. Alcohol thinned the blood. But they were tough men who'd had tattoos before. They could handle it, so Jesse did the work. He settled down into the office chair at his workspace, glancing around at the scattered papers. What now?
‹Victor› The patch in his hand had a soft texture, smooth but rough where the Sergeant-At-Arms lettering had been stitched in. Protect the club. Protect his brothers. This responsibility had been passed to him with arms wide open, knowing he was best fit for the job. He watched the others as they drank and harassed the sweetbutts, flashing new ink as they came out of the tattoo shop. It was a regular location for them even though he'd never come on nights like this. Vic was usually out riding slab with a few of his closest brothers or going over papers with the treasurer. They were a fairly steady MC and he was happy for the most part. But there was tension in the air and had been for the past couple of weeks. With hostilities rising from a new club near their territory, everyone was on edge. Tonight was just a way of letting off some steam. There had been rumors of strange activity coming from the other MC and Vic was growing curious. He'd have to get the patch sewn on, probably a task for later this evening. He was proud and rightfully so. Victor looked inside the shop and noticed the ink-slinger had taken a short break and was cleaning up. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to break skin tonight. Entering the establishment, Vic nodded to the artist. "Busy?"
--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
‹Jesse Fforde› Jesse swung around on the chair, facing the new voice. Another customer. One like all the rest, as far as Jesse was concerned - thus far there was nothing about the human that marked him as any different to the rest of them. Nothing special, nothing bland. Just another canvas for Jesse to work on. The vampire shrugged, and shook his head; having been mute for just over a decade, Jesse was accustomed to silence rather than immediate speech. He stood and sauntered toward the counter, where there were a few folders still open and flipped to the available designs. Behind him, Jesse's own desk was littered with his own designs, quite a few pinned up on the walls. He did commissions, on top of the regular things. One of the folders belonged entirely to him, and was filled only with his own work. Once a design was used, he'd take it out, and throw it away. If people wanted something original, something that would not be repeated, they could get it from there. He leaned against the bench, fingers splayed over the glass. "Not at all," he said, voice gruff and husky. He arched an inquisitive brow.
--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
‹Victor› "How much for this, here?" His phone flipped out and he thumbed the picture into view for the artist whilst his free hand brushed over his right breast. The image was that of a blindfolded smoking skull. Simple. Just like he was. His nephew had drawn it for him after he'd taken the tyke for a ride on the bike. Absolutely rocked his world to have his big uncle show him what a biker was like. When the whole group got together on the highway, surrounding him and Victor, the man had never seen the kid so enthralled. So happy. That was a month before he died from cancer. So the tattoo had some sentimental value to it. Vic looked at the artist while he waited for the price. There wasn't much conversation between them...and he liked that.
<Jesse Fforde> Jesse nods, scrutinizing the image for a few long seconds beforehand. He does prefer it when people choose his own art. But it's a tattoo that's going to be etched into their skin for their foreseeable lifetime, so of course the choice is their prerogative. "How big?" Jesse asks - he'd taken the phone and the image from the biker's hand, and had turned around to retrieve some transferable paper from the desk behind him. He has a pencil in hand, and an inquiring gleam to his eyes. He can't give a price unless he know how big the tattoo is going to be, and how long it might take him.
‹Victor› "Five inches in width at least. I want it to show. I want to know it's there. But keep it simple...no changes." He removed his vest and hung it gingerly over the back of his tattoo chair before pulling away his shirt. Vic as already pretty covered in ink, but his upper chest was still void. The amount of flesh that was going to be covered was small in comparison to the rest of his pecs, he was a very built man having earned him the club name..."Hey Gunz! Hurry up and we'll save you one of these sweetbutts!" Laughter ensued and Vic just chuckled to himself. The group was lively and cheerful, which was a nice change in atmosphere.
<Jesse Fforde> Again, Jesse nods. A reasonable size. Not too big, but nor is it small. Immediately able to convert the five inches onto the paper, he begins to copy the image from the phone with deft, sharp strokes. He knows what he's doing. He's been sketching and drawing like this for years, in near every spare moment of his day. The brows furrow over his eyes as he concentrates on the image forming beneath his stained fingertips. "It's a one-hundred dollar flat fee for insurance reasons, fifty dollars an hour on top of that. No more than two-hundred for this one," he says to the customer, glancing up at the rowdy crowd outside as 'Gunz' is told to hurry up. Jesse himself won't hurry up. He won't rush this job. "I apologise in advance if you miss out on those 'sweetbutts', man, but would be unprofessional of me to mess this up if I rush it," he says, glancing sideways at the now-shirtless biker.
‹Victor› He settled into one of the waiting chair, elbows propped up on the tops of his knees as he looked up at all the flash on the walls. Vic wasn't in a rush, wasn't planning on joining the others in the shenanigans outside. There was just too much work to be done. The price came as a surprise to him when his attention was brought once more to the artist. "Sounds good." He leafed out a few bills and handed them to the ink slinger. A glance out toward the rowdy group and back to Jesse. "Nah...don't listen to them. I'm here for the ink, not the ***."
--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
<Jesse Fforde> Once upon a time, Jesse might have wanted to join in for the ***. But he's got his own *** waiting for him at home--or is she working tonight? Doesn't matter. Jesse puts Grey out of his mind as he focuses on his work. He takes the offered money but does nothing with it, just yet. He slides it beneath the register. "We'll put the transaction through when I'm done. It's just a quote," he says. By this time he has a rough outline of the design drawn up. He doesn't need to include all the details, but will continue to refer to the image given to him by 'Gunz' while he's working. All he needs is the outline. The guy is already covered in tattoos, so Jesse assumes he knows the process; before he does anything else, he wanders over to a cupboard to retrieve the spray bottle of water, and a cheap razor that's encased in plastic. Everything has to be sterile. Jesse doesn't hesitate to begin - the guy already appears ready to go. He waits for his customer to settle properly in the chair - which is raised higher off the ground than the rest as Jesse prefers to stand while he works, sometimes - before spraying the indicated area with water, ready to shave away any errant hairs.
‹Victor› "Whatever rocks your ****, man." It never bothered him what another person did with their money once it left his hand. He had plenty of cash from the club and work, making his life easier. It was all about the ride now. Vic sat down on the chair and relaxed, closing his eyes from the spritz of water that dotted his face. Everything was methodical, clean, and the artist was knowing. This was reassuring. He just rested back in the chair and let the man handle his craft. In the meantime, he let his mind wander on about the new position he'd been given in the club and how it would affect his life. "Nothing like change..."
<Jesse Fforde> Jesse smirks as he works. Methodical, indeed - the process comes easy to him, and he doesn't even have to think about it - shaving the skin clean, and swiping it with alcohol before very carefully applying the transferable paper to the skin. He used the same alcohol-soaked swap to wet the paper, so that the design transferred properly. "I think I'd be a very dull person if something as tedious as business transactions 'rocked my ****', he says, his voice husky, somewhat broken. Not all there. He arches his brow at the second comment - he wonders whether 'Gunz' might be talking to himself, and doesn't comment. He removes the paper, the design stark on the skin beneath. "Is that placement good for you?" he asks, holding up a handheld mirror. He always made sure the mirror was face down. Wouldn't do to have people noticing his lack of reflection.
‹Victor› "My main man...I do -not- want to know what actually rocks your ****, thank you." He almost laughed but kept himself still as the transfer was applied to his skin. There couldn't be any smudging or marring of the image else it would be completely ruined on principle. Vic took the mirror and eyed the reflection of the stencil. It was actually spot on the first go. Mark another point for the tattooist and his skills. But then, that was just the removable ink being placed down, it was the permanent color that would sing his worth in this trade. "It's just fine, ready when you are." He handed the mirror back and cracked his neck.
Outlaw Gentlemen & Shady Ladies
The Handle Bar - NIGHT LORDS MC - House of Fforde
I had a bad day
With her angel wings
--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
<Jesse Fforde> Jesse smirked. He could, of course, have jested. Could have gone on about what rocked his socks were the best things in the world - or one thing in particular. But silence was his fall back. Sure, Jesse could be chatty these days, when he wanted to be. But that was around people he knew. People who wouldn't misunderstand him. Here, he was in his place of work and needed to be professional, at least to a certain extent. But still. There was something about this biker that had Jesse relaxing. He tossed the leftover paper in the bin. He pulled a plastic packet from one of the drawers and ripped it open, attaching the sterile needles to the machine, making sure the connections were similarly sterile and covered in plastic. Only when all the ink was prepared, did he pull on the surgical gloves. His toe tapped at the pedal on the ground; the machine whirred, high-pitched and mechanical. Needle touched skin, and Jesse sank into his work-induced trance, focused only on this piece of art.
‹Victor› There was a comfortable silence between them as the buzz of gun whirred into time and space. It wasn't the growl of his Harley, but it still made him feel welcome. Nostalgic. He always knew memories were found in a tattoo shop, be they good or bad. Marking lifetime stepping stones or joy or even sorrow, all of this could be found in the ink. Vic got lost in his thoughts as the outline began, tensing here and there but otherwise not really noticing the needles being shoved into his flesh.
<Jesse Fforde> The noise outside increased. Normally, Jesse could ignore outside intrusions while he was working, but nor did he often have a group of happy and loud bikers lingering outside of the shop, either. Of course he didn't look away; he didn't try to see what was going on. He was aware that their aloof tones weren't so aloof anymore. By this time he had finished the outline of the design, and had shifted away to shuck the three-cluster needle in favour of the seven-cluster needle, to complete the shading. Only then would he spare a glance out the door; only then did he clear his throat. "Gunz, eh? Do you have authority with them?" he asked, curious.
‹Victor› Damn they were getting raucaus. Perhaps it was time for them to head back to the clubhouse or go home. They didn't need a phone call to the police for disturbing the peace. He heard bikes rumbling until it became clear that more had arrived. His eyes opened and Vic looked over at the artist who seemed just as put off as he was. "Yeah..let me go take care of these assholes. Hold on." With that, Vic lifted off of the chair and headed out the door to the front of the shop. There was a an unease in the air and one of his brothers came up beside him. "Gunz..one of them road through and cut at Derrek. We are gunning up to go after." Vic frowned. "Is he ok? And I don't think that's a good idea...let them come to us. It could be a trap. They want a fight, we'll give em a fight." Saul nodded and headed back into the fray of pissed off bikers. That's when the roar of engines began flooding the streets. Vic turned to go inside and warn the artist to stay down and stay put. He wasn't sure what was going to happen.
<Jesse Fforde> Jesse was equally as curious about the disturbance. Of course, he'd prefer if any violence were to occur, that it happen outside of the shop. The roar of bikes drowned out the music that was playing through the shop's speakers. Jesse felt no anxiety. There was no fear. There was, however, a rising excitement. A biker skirmish? He'd never seen one of those, much less been involved. 'Gunz ' didn't have the chance to tell Jesse to stay down and stay put. Jesse had already removed his gloves and put the tattoo machine aside. He had his own weapons - the gun was in the drawer of his desk. His lips curled into an expectant smirk as he lounged against the counter, hardly distressed. "You're stuck in the square out there - there's no way out but the way you came in," he said. Masterpiece was at the back of a mall-like set-up, the courtyard in the middle. "Best to head out onto the street proper, so you don't get backed into a corner," he offered.
‹Victor› Vic stopped midstep as the artist spoke. There was a strange absence of fear there and it proved to boost his confidence yet at the same time made him wary of the guy. Was he with the other club? Go figure, his club would be paying the way for a rival MC. But then he spoke and surprise and appreciativeness filtered over his features. "Makes sense, thanks. You good here?" He didn't know if he wanted the guy to stay put or leave. Guess it was up to him now.
<Jesse Fforde> Jesse nodded. That confidence bled from every pore. The expression upon his face gave away his cockiness - the way his eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched, just slightly. A reassuring nod. "I'll lock up," he said. He didn't tell the guy that he would indeed lock up and clean up, but not to leave and run to safety. No, he'd lock up so that the shop might stay safe, but also because he himself wanted to join the fray. And he couldn't leave the shop unmanned. "I'll see you soon," he said. A vague statement. The guy did have an unfinished tattoo on his chest.
