Anchored
06.08.13 | Harper Rock Tattoo Expo | Bullwood
Giving a nod, her client walked carefully to the full length mirror and began viewing the indigo outline from all possible angles. While she was occupied, Kleo slipped off the thin gloves she'd put on for the area preparation and outline application in favor of thicker black nitrile ones, with a warm soak in between.
The requested piece would take her "no time" at all, the design was simple enough. The raven haired girl who'd introduced herself as Sam had thrust a piece of lined paper into her unprepared hands within moments of meeting. The crude ink drawing got the point across and Kleo took no more than fifteen minutes to duplicate it on the proper medium, changing the quote to I refuse to sink and defining the flukes on the anchor. There was an ease to the design that she quite liked. The letters weren't so structured that they would seem stiff, and the anchor wasn't bogged down with details.
All things prepared and Sam again at her side, Kleo motioned her toward the table she'd be perched upon, and once she'd climbed atop, instructed her on how to sit with the lucky leg bent, foot flat on the thin padding beneath it, there to act as an absorbent barrier.
Sam requested Kleo allow her to feel the sensation of being tattooed on her foot sans ink. Kleo obliged, and given a few moments more, she would have offered the experience on her own. The foot was a toss up. People either told her it hurt like a ***** or it didn't bother them at all. It was a relief that Sam fell into the latter category. She'd probably shift toward the middle when the fill in of the anchor began, but all in all this would probably be easy sailing, or so she hoped.
With the final go ahead from Sam in the form of a nod, Kleo began, one gloved hand reaching out so that the needle was able to collect the darkest of her inks, the other capturing and holding Sam's foot in place. Steadily, she began tracing over the lettering, spelling out the quote letter by letter until I REFUSE TO SINK snaked over the top of her foot. Next came the coal black anchor, and as the gun buzzed with the back and forth motion of the heavy coloring, she glanced up at Sam. The girl hadn't spoken a word since Kleo began, instead staring attentively, palms grasping the side of the table, rosy lips pursed tightly.
On and on Kleo went, pausing once to give Sam a few moments to gather herself and take a swig from the water bottle she'd brought along. "Aaalmost done" she said, drawing out the first syllable. She could feel Sam becoming fidgety beneath her hold.
With a final pressure to the end of a curlicue, Kleo finished the piece. The next handfuls of minutes passed quickly as she wiped down the tattoo, broke down the station, and discussed proper care and maintenance. All of the mandatory discussions aside, she motioned Sam down from the table for a look at tattoo.
Ginger steps toward the mirror turned to a squeal of satisfaction and slew of thanks. Laughing, Kleo responded to each enthusiastically, then ushered her back onto the table to complete the care she was responsible for. Before covering the work, she took a last look at it, pleased with how the monochromatic design had come together.
After hopping down from the table a second time, flip flops were put on and contact information exchanged (though Kleo didn't really think it'd be put to use. She would be going back to Louisiana in several days). Crisp bills were passed into her hand, and now it was Kleo's turn to say "Mèsi!" A wide smile, ecstatic wave, and another series of thanking ensued, before Sam left the booth.
Alone, Kleo sat down at her display table with a bright smile on her face and waited for the next curious onlooker who wanted to discuss art, or perhaps get some.
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