One Hour Tattoo

[Alice Wilson (DELETED 8534)]

Telling him when she felt light-headed, this could pose a problem. Alice was so used to feeling light-headed that she probably wouldn't even notice it. Though, if it got really bad she would notice. And besides, she knew when her body was in serious trouble. Somehow she knew, even though she had no clue how. There should be no reason to worry. Especially since she never passed out. Thinking about this helped her to calm down again.

A quick glance to the outline on her skin showed that he had already placed it nicely. “Yes, it's in the right place.” Now she could imagine even better how it would look on her and a smile appeared on her face again. This was perfect. And if the whole tattooing thing wasn't too bad, maybe she would come again for the other one she had in mind. Though the biggest test was still ahead.

“I'm kinda curious, what kind of tattoos do the most people get? I can imagine a lot of people would get their lovers name or something, right?” Tattoos, in her mind, were a good way to find out something about the people. Either they had a meaning, or they were chosen because they looked good. So by seeing them, you can get some insight into that persons tastes, at least. However, on the other hand, even though a tattoo was permanent, when seeing the tattoos some people had she was not really sure whether those people had taken that into consideration. Especially those that get love tattoos with names. What if they break up? That was always a possibility, even though those people probably didn't consider that.

[Jesse Fforde]

The gloves were snug and the needle ready. There was a reedy buzz as he dipped it in the ink, ready to go. He gestured for Alice to lay back, to make herself comfortable, while he adjusted the stool so that he'd be perched at the right height. The warmth of the lamp might be a comfort to her, the strong arch of it illuminating the area and, more importantly, the canvas that Jesse was working with.

"Most of the time it's just butterflies or stars or inspirational quotes," he said. "Working next to the pub, I do sometimes get the couples, gleefully getting their names stamped on each other, but thankfully not too often," he said with a smirk. He liked it best when people came off the street to browse through the folders; he liked it best when he could etch his own art into the skin of his clients, though it was rare. Most came in with something in mind, a picture he had to parrot -- he wouldn't tell any of this to his newest customer, however. A good tattooist does not belittle the customer's choice, especially if it meant something to them. Who was he to say it wasn't good enough? A bad tattooist could **** it up, even if they had a roadmap, or a perfect stencil. Jesse's pride lay in his skill, his ability to make even this simple design look bright, and sharp, and stunning.

He tapped the pedal with his foot, the buzzing cutting through the air once more. "Ready?" he asked, leaning forward, prepared to press needle to skin.

[Alice Wilson (DELETED 8534)]

„Of course.“ she answered, with a slightly forced smile. How she hated it. Could they never just start? Was it necessary to prolong the situation with that unnecessary question? It's what she hated most when getting a vaccination too. How they always waved the syringe in front of her face and asked whether she was ready. And the stereotypical: This'll only prick a little. If he said that too, she would hit him. No matter what, she would. Alice noticed she was overreacting again. She had to calm down.

At least the tattoo needle didn't seem to be a problem. Alice had never understood how it worked with her, why some things were a problem and some weren’t. Had it been someone else who had that problem, she would have said it was probably some kind of trauma. But since it was herself, she had no clue why things were like that. Yet there was nothing she could do about it, only live with it. And at least now she knew tattoo needles wouldn't cause panic attacks. That's what she had been worried about the most.

Alice actually seemed to get calmer now. The uneasiness that was plainly obvious until now seemed to disappear as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Ready as can be.” she said, this time her smile not being forced.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse smirked at the girl, whose discomfort was obvious -- at least to begin with. Something happened in the few seconds between. Something dropped away. Curious as he might have been, Jesse didn't ask. Instead, he just nodded and focused on the canvas in front of him.

The needle touched down. Jesse loved this part, especially now. With preternatural sight, he could see the movement of the needles. As a human, they moved too fast for the eye to see. As a vampire, it was as if time slowed. Each stab and jab, he could see. He could see the way the skin was pierced, and he could see the way it was tugged when the needles came back out again. He could see the ink as it was injected beneath the skin, and every tiny little minuscule potential mistake could be avoided.

He started in the middle, where the smaller birds made up some of the feathers. If she decided the pain was too much, if he had to stop, if she didn't want to finish, at least she would have a smaller tattoo that still looked good, that was still an image of something rather than just a blob.

"Doing okay? Tell me if it's too much..." he said, voice quiet, focus profound.

[Alice Wilson (DELETED 8534)]

„Everything is fine.“ she said calmly. Of course there was pain, but nothing Alice wasn't able to handle. It wasn't bad, just uncomfortable. Somehow, she always had a rather high tolerance when it came to pain, which was helpful every now and then.

No, the only thing that made her uncomfortable was neither the pain, nor the tattoo needle. It was having someone so close to her, with the hand that held the tattoo needle occasionally touching her skin. It wasn't so bad that you could say she had a problem with it, it just made her uneasy. Would she talk to some psychiatrist, she would probably be diagnosed with some fancy sounding mental illness, saying she would have fear of others or whatever. Though that was not the case, but those people never really try to understand others. They just go by the symptoms they have in their books and decide on some mental illness that fits those.

For the moment, Alice decided to not talk on, since she figured he'd probably need to concentrate to work and she didn't want to distract him. Besides, she had no problem with a bit of quietness.

[Jesse Fforde]

Most would consider silence to be awkward. Most of the people Jesse got in his chair chattered, on and on. Even if he showed reluctance, even if he only answered their questions with short replies, they continued to chatter, because they didn’t like the silence. It was something Jesse had grown accustomed to – over a decade as a mute, he was used to people telling him his life story as if he wanted to hear it. And he found it strange and interesting that the practice had stopped, as soon as he had found his voice. It was as if people enjoyed speaking only if they knew they were not going to be interrupted; as if it was easier to speak to a mute because there was less chance of judgment, at least not any that would be voiced.

Whatever the case, Jesse was quite happy to work in silence. He preferred to, in fact. He didn’t try to fill the silence with inane junk; he tuned out as the music overhead and the buzz of the needle became white noise. Every now and again he’d swipe at the tattoo with a cotton bud, dabbing away the excess ink and any blood that bubbled to the surface. He tried not to breathe too much, either, given his reaction to blood, and the fact that if he dwelled on the scent of it he’d be harbouring thoughts of draining his customer as she sat there, giving him her trust. The scent of blood and ink, though? It couldn’t be beat.

At one point, he swapped the needles; he was done with the lines – some of which he left open – and commenced with the shading. From the lines that he’d left open, he created the effect of feathers. An effect that he could change, later, if Alice wanted the tattoo to be solid and sharp. But he thought that the feathered effect gave the impression of the bird flying, rather than of it sitting still.

It only took an hour, perhaps just less.

”Done,” he said, finding the disinfectant so that he could clean the tattoo, clear it of all the excess ink.

”If you like it,” he said, offering a handheld mirror to the customer and being careful so that she wouldn’t see his lack of reflection.

[Alice Wilson (DELETED 8534)]

After a while, the situation actually got calming. What was around her became background, as she immersed in her thoughts again, as usual. The pain was also something she didn't notice anymore after a short while, so it didn't interrupt her thoughts either. Of course there was still a bit of uneasiness within her, but not as much that it would really influence her.

Being quiet like that was actually refreshing. Alice liked silence. But most people tended to start talking about something, no matter what, once silence sets in. As if they were afraid of it. Or as if they were afraid, would the other person not concentrate on their words, their feelings, their self would be seen. Over the time, she had gotten rather good at filling the silence with meaningless chatter too. Not because she herself had a problem with it, but because she knew others felt awkward otherwise. As usual, common courtesy. Yet in this case, she had the feeling he didn't mind the silence either and she was glad about that.

This was only interrupted by him speaking and cleaning the tattoo. Curiosity washed over her, as she took the mirror. How would it look on her? Was that tattoo at that spot the right decision? Would it look the way she imagined it? As she looked at it, she saw there were slight alterations to the original picture. The biggest change were feathers, where there had been sharp lines in the picture. It reminded her of the work of an artist that, when drawing a picture, gave it his own style. And in the end, why should a tattoo not be art? It's only put on a different canvas. She liked the way it looked now. It seemed more alive than in the original.

“I like it. It's perfect.” she said with a broad smile. Actually, she felt like jumping around right now. Just as usual, when she was happy about something, this happiness washed away all negative emotions. Like a little kid, was what her mother usually said about that. Especially because Alice managed to get overly happy over little things. Handing the mirror back to him, she said: “Your style is really nice.” Of course that was also common courtesy, but Alice really meant it. She liked the style he brought into the tattoo.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse's smile reflected the satisfaction upon receiving the compliment. He had confidence in his own style and had no problems telling others that he was good -- but it still felt good to be complimented, especially if he'd taken liberties on someone else's design. After he'd gained Alice's approval, he found a new tube of after-ink ointment, which he cracked open to dab upon the fresh tattoo.

"This is for you to take home. Use it twice a day for a couple of weeks, or until it's healed, and then once a week after that. It'll help to keep the tattoo looking fresh," he said. He swore by the stuff. Even after a tattoo had started to fade, a dab of this ointment and it was if it had come back to life. He put the lid back on the tube and handed it to Alice.

Next he reached for the cling wrap and the thin masking tape, tearing off a square to secure over the wound.

"Keep this on for a few hours, just to let the ink settle. If you need a touch up in future, come back in and I'll give it for free," he said. The words were ones he'd spoken a hundred times before, on a hundred different customers. They slipped from his lips without thought. When he'd done securing the cling wrap, he pulled off the gloves and tossed them in the bin, stepping back to allow Alice the freedom to stand, and to walk past him and back out to the front counter.[/justify]

[Alice Wilson (DELETED 8534)]

After all this time without moving much, standing and walking felt really nice. “Okay, I'll do that.” Alice replied to his instructions about the tattoo. She put the tube into the bag she had with her, then heading over to the front counter.

She really liked how things were going. The tattoo was perfect, a future touch up would be for free, and despite her original thoughts, Jesse seemed to be a friendly person too. If she ever felt like getting another tattoo, she knew where she would get it. Though she was not sure if she ever would get another. Not that the pain annoyed her or anything, but she just didn't feel like having too many tattoos. It was simply not her style.

Once he arrived at the front counter too, she asked: “How much does the tattoo cost?” Asking that in the beginning might have been a good idea. But it shouldn't be that more expensive than what she had expected. After all, she had checked the usual price for a tattoo in the net. And besides, she had taken a bit more with her, just in case. Or she could pay by card, if they accepted it here. If all else failed, she could pay what she had and get the rest of the money from a cash-point and bring it here.

[Jesse Fforde]

Price. Jesse had slipped up on that one -- he should have told her the price to begin with. The last thing he wanted as a business owner was for his customers to walk away paying less than expected, or walking out the door without paying at all. But given that she was a waif of a human, he doubted that she would get very far. Not if he could help it.

"Fifty dollars flat rate, regardless of the tattoo, then one hundred dollars per hour after that," he said, and then checked his watch. It had only been an hour -- maybe a little bit more, but he'd cap it at the hour.

"Which makes it one hundred and fifty. If you'd called and asked me to design, and I'd spent time drawing and re-drawing your design, it would have cost more. But this is more like a flash piece," he said. A lot of first timers asked him about his rates, and he quite often had to explain himself. This time he did so without having been asked.