Path of the Vampire forum

There’s something undeniably calming about the treehouse. I feel safe up in its limbs, regardless of the fact that the one, debilitating fear I have is of heights. Even so, I’m not hanging out right on the edge of the limbs. I’m on the third floor, where all the huts are arranged. I’m out on the limb where my own hut is located—although I mostly keep the door locked to protect the near dozen hydroponics that I’ve set up, tonight, the door is wide open. I’m letting a bit of fresh air through. The breeze fiddles with the corners of the bits of paper that I have tacked up all around the middle room inside; I’ve turned it into a meagre little studio, with the two rooms on either side acting as miniature green rooms. I’ve got the doors to the green rooms shut, so as to keep the temperature inside to the plants’ liking.

Out on the deck, I lie on my stomach. My ankles are crossed at my feet, which are bare. I’m wearing only a pair of jeans, suspenders holding them up. On my head is a grey cap, which might suit an eighty-year-old man. But I like it. I’ve just been out to feed, and have returned to tend to my plants; I didn’t have any real plans for the rest of the evening, and so I am subject to my random, spontaneous whims. I don’t know how exactly I found myself there, lying on my gut on that particular part of the walkway leading to my hut. But there I am, with the sketch pad in front of me, pens and pencils arrayed haphazardly around me. The corner of the pad is weighted down by a small pot. Inside of it is a desert rose which should, by all means, be dead.

The image coming to life on the previously start, white piece of paper is that of a desert rose, half dead, half alive. It’s a large portrait, long and skinny—something that could be appropriated to an arm tattoo. Something that could flourish and spread across the shoulder. I intend that, from the front, the flower would look dead and withered. But from behind, it would appear vibrant and alive. The leaves are a dark, emerald green, and I can’t decide whether I want the petals to be red or fuschia.

The breeze picks up a little bit, cool and calming. It spreads its fingers across my skin as I lift my gaze to the flower in its pot. I caress it, like I would a small animal; it appears to shiver beneath my touch, to sway and swoon. The withered leaves regain their potency and strength. The thick bark almost blushes a moss green; it pulses with life as the leaves return to their usual buoyancy, supporting the bud of a newborn flower. I smile, indulgently, as the petals unfurl. The plant decides for me; the petals in the design will be fuschia.

I find the appropriate pens, and continue to draw, even as the plant holding the paper down continues to thrive.

Life had always been simple for Karina. It was planned out and never changed from day to day. She was born to be a ballet dancer and there was were her head was forced to focus from the moment she woke up to the moment she rested her head on the pillow. Only a few hours to rest and she would be up and at it again. Her school work would only be done during a couple hours of the day but her feet always kept moving. There was no one better than her than maybe her sister, Larissa who had been able to make ballet a career. Ballet was the only reason why her family uprooted and left Moscow, moving to America to live in New York City in her early teen years because her parents wanted them to have the best training and the best chance they could to be professional dancers. Her grandparents even moved to a little farm as they hated the city life and moving away from Moscow to New York...they finally wanted to have some peace.

Karina had always had her head into ballet and because of this was why she had never known about relationships, was completely clueless. Never had the need to have a boyfriend or learn what love was. She was married to ballet. It wasn't until the accident that spun her life out of control and she lost her entire focus. They were running late for her audtion to Julliard and trying to get through rush hour traffic was a nightmare. They had the green light to move ahead but what wasn't expected was a driver, who was piss drunk, come barreling through the red light and T-bone them so hard into another car that it left her parents dead and her in the ICU. She held the blame on herself and what made it all worse...so did her sister. She was left all alone to live with her grandparents who tried to help repair her and tell her that it wasn't her fault. She finally complied so they would stop worrying but it hadn't meant that she finally believed it either. She walked completely away from dancing and then a few years later when she turned 18, she packed her bags and moved to Harper Rock to get away which is where Kacee had found her, turning her world upside down.

Her turning had been easy and she had been loved. Kacee and Mercedes were her constant companions and they had even set her up with her first husband, Raphael. Nothing could have killed the high of this new life until the day they all vanished. Everyone she loved and cared for: Kacee, Mercedes, Bubbles, Raphael...then Neville who has found her and opened her up a little, letting her know that there was still hope. She laughed as she thought about it all as she woke and packed her messenger bag for the day. All of them helped her embrace this life as well as the old, encouraging her to dance again. Zodiac and Neville even helped her open the dance studio but again she was left alone except the one family that had without a doubt always been there for her...Tytonidae.

Velveteen had been there for all of her ups and downs, the good and the bad and supported her every step of the way. Vel had been more of her adoptive sire than Cai had been since he took her in but that was mostly Karina's fault. She occasionally fought with his fiance and didn't want to make his life awkward. They adored each other but at times it was hard not to look at Cai and still think of Raphael, who he had sired, and Mercedes, who he had dated just before she vanished. She loved him but wanted life easy for him. She embraced Ty and the support that they gave her. They were her family.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she leaned in and kissed the sleeping Lions cheek as she laid a note beside his head that she would be back soon. She wasn't the girl that Velveteen watched grow up anymore, she had changed and came out of her shell, that she had perfected hiding away in. Her thanks went to Lions for that as he had been a complete and total surprise to her but was grateful for every bit of it. Now she needed to make changes...a make-over of sorts so she could look how she felt. Of course she would still dance but she didn't need the whole 'Pretty in Pink' lifestyle to go with it. No! She needed something more with edge. Something New... Something Permanent... Then it hit her, a tattoo.

Heating up a packet of blood in her favorite coffee mug and then running for the door of the hut, she grabbed the tattoo magazine she had picked up off of a gangster and smiled as she left the hut wearing a pair of jeans, a simple tank top, and a brown leather vest with her hair in loose braided pigtails. Rushing for the elevator, she was going to see if she could find, Micah when her eyes caught movement over on one of the limbs that held another hut. As her eyes looked over, she smiled and saw Jesse. He was quiet but there was a perfectly good reason for that given he was mute but that didn't mean he couldn't communicate and in fact...Karina found him to be rather nice from the times that she had been around him which was typically in a Ty meeting. Changing her direction, she walked over to him, her mug held securely in her hand. As she reached him, she smiled.

"Hey Jesse!"

I am aware of most other movement on this level of the treehouse. It doesn’t alarm me, and I don’t pay much attention to it, either, except a glance up every now and again. People come and go; I can feel the vibrations of their footsteps through the wooden walkways. There’s no need for silence or secrecy, here. There’s no need to hide one’s appearance, or one’s comings and goings. I know that when I leave, and when I arrive, I do so with a striding confidence. I do so swinging about the place like a genuine lost boy, like a minion of the glorious Peter Pan.

Thusly, I hear the door of a hut nearby open and close. I can hear the footsteps as they head, no doubt, for the elevator, or the portal. I can hear as those same footsteps stop, and chance direction. I can smell the scent of warm blood, slightly stale, wafting toward me before I hear the voice. It’s a voice that I recognise, but I afford a glance up at my visitor just to be sure.

Karina Docere. I narrow my eyes only slightly as I recall all the times that I have seen her; I’ve seen her at a couple of meetings, and I’ve seen her in the raids. I’ve helped her out before. And I rarely ever see her away from Lions. Although I’m loathe to say that she’s different…I can’t help but think it. There’s something different about the woman. Something in the way she holds herself. I push myself away from the ground and re-arrange myself so that I’m sitting, cross-legged, in front of my art. There’s charcoal and ink staining my fingers, and bits of my skin that aren’t already covered in permanent ink.

I salute Karina in greeting, pulling myself up and out of the mire of inspiration that I’ve been caught in for the past couple of hours. The scent of blood, no matter how stale it might be, has alerted me to my own hunger; that thirst that is never sated, that never goes away. I have no need to feed anymore, and yet…

I clear my throat, and swallow. To distract myself, I point to the magazine that Karina’s holding. It’s one that I recognise. It’s one that I subscribe to myself. I’ve probably got a few issues of it, lying around in the hut behind me. I perk an inquisitive brow at the magazine, attention flicking from its colourful cover images back to Karina’s face.

Jesse had been working on something when she walked up and she felt bad for disturbing him, though he sat up after he looked up at her. Watching as he readjusted himself until he seemed comfortable, she gave a light chuckle and nod as he saluted her. Her eyes then glanced down at the piece that he had been working in. The skill that he had was more than she could imagine for herself. It was his version of ballet or at least that is how she thought of it in her mind.

Taking a drink from the mug as she was trying to catch up on her 'breakfast' since giving up hunting down humans for a meal as they always seemed to get her into trouble that she kept under the radar from her peers. It was always better safe than sorry because she couldn't even think about how she would explain it to Vel...at least with her having money in the bank to pay for blood packs opposed to when she was ablet to keep her spirit army, she would fight to stay off the bounty list only failing a few times. Vel was always understanding and let her work it off which she always did the same day but she never hid from her bounties and always told Vel the moment she had them. It was probably the respect that she owned up to it that saved her but she wasn't sure. Pointing down at the picture, she smiled.

"I like it. What is it?"

As he cleared his throat, her eyes drifted back to him and realized that he was pointing to the magazine. Noticing his perked brow and down at the magazine, it hit her that he was curious about it. Holding it up as she quickly moved to sit next to him.

"Oh! I lifted this off a gangster the other day but I think I might get a subscription. This is actually why I stopped over to see you."

She flipped through the magazine until she got to a woman that resembled her a bit. The woman apparently was a tattoo artist from Sweden but the work that was done...it was simply stunning and being unable to be all that imaginative just yet outside of dancing...she wanted what the woman had. Showing him the sleeves and the chest piece, she looked up at him with excitement and hope.

"You can do tattoos...right?"

What is it? She asks. I have to frown down at the design that I have been working on; I have to **** my head to the side and try to view it as someone unbiased—as someone who hasn’t been working on it for the past hour. It’s not so good when you’re working on a design and someone has to ask what it is. Sure, that might be flattering to someone who works in abstracts, but I don’t intend my work to be abstract. It ought to be pretty clear. And if it’s now…well, it’ll need some work. I grab the pot that holds the desert rose—now fully alive and vibrant after my ministrations—and pull it closer to the design. I point to it, and then at what I have attempted to draw on the page. Maybe I’ve tried to be too complex. Maybe I need to simplify it.

Even as I’m in the process of answering Karina’s question, she’s settling down beside me to answer mine. I wiggle a little to the side to give her room, crossing my legs beneath me. I peer over at the magazine and the article that she’s showing me. It seems to be a kind of showpiece; a woman, who’s designed her own stuff, I think. I don’t read the article, though—I just look at the pictures as Karina points them out. They’re close ups of the tattoos that the woman has etched into her skin. The designs are beautiful, and whoever drew them—that woman or no—is very, very skilled. It’s the kind of talent people are envious of. And the way the designs spread across the skin—the woman herself has become a piece of art. And this what I like most about my profession. I am an artist. But I also consider myself a walking piece of art. Anyone, with such a conglomeration of ink, must have pride in art. Not all tattoos, individually, have to be meaningful to the wearer. Not all tattoos have to have a story. Sometimes, the sleeves are just something beautiful that the wearer has to have.

Karina then asks if I do tattoos. I give a curt nod—yes, I do. It’s what I do best. I won’t say that I am the best, though it would be a title I’d strive for. But to be a tattoo artist is much the same as being any other kind of artist. You can be the best according to a few. But there are different styles. It’s all a matter of opinion.

As I glance up at Karina I catch that excited and hopeful look in her eye. I put the question, that expression, and the interest in the chest and sleeve pieces together. Am I right in assuming Karina wants a tattoo? And not just one, but a whole bunch, all together, just like she’s seen in that magazine? I perk a brow. I’ve answered her question – yes, I do tattoos. Now, like the patient man that I am, I wait for her to continue—surely, she’s going somewhere with this. I wait to see if my assumption is correct.

Karina felt bad when he moved to hold up the pot with the desert rose and looked back down at the picture. She wasn't sure how she didn't see that as it was pretty clear. Jesse was a really good artist and it seemed pretty clear to Rina that she was lacking in the art department. She made a mental note to visit a few galleries and museums to fix this issue. Being supportive to everyone with their jobs and hobbies was important to her especially when they were apart of her family in Tytonidae. She needed to stop being so self-absorbed but this was an issue that she was working on, it was just taking some time to get accomplished.

"It's very pretty, Jesse. Is it going to be a tattoo for someone or are you drawing for fun?"

He was kind to move over a little bit to give her room. She wouldn't have minded being in a squished little ball as it was rare that she would find herself uncomfortable when finding places to sit. She was small enough that it rarely bothered her. A light smile slipped upon her lips as he looked over the pages that she showed him. Admiration sparkled in her eyes as she felt this woman was brave to have such work done and as she looked up at Jesse, that admiration showed towards him as well. She had never been bold enough to do anything like this but now, now she wanted to and she was completely ready. This was on step in the make-over process that she was incredibly excited about. This would define the make-over, make her changes stand out and that was all she could ask for. Rina had mastered being a hermit but now she made a promise to Micah and Vel, a promise that she had no intentions of backing down from. She was going to stand tall, be assertive, and refuse to be the quite, timid girl she once was.

He gave a curt nod to her question. He indeed does do tattoos and that made the search to get work done easier. A brightly lit smile moved across her lips as she showed him the pictures of the woman again as she shifted to turn toward him. Rina was a step closer to her goal. Her finger traced over the three large pieces as she looked up at him.

"I would like to get these done and I was hoping that you would be able to do them for me."

I shrug. I assume, one day, this might become a tattoo. It’s not a commission or anything, if that’s what she’s asking. Sometimes I do get commissions—people want something done, they give me an idea of what they’d like, and I do my best to replicate it for them. Sometimes, they come and they have a look at the things I’ve drawn myself, and they choose from the options handed to them. This particular piece—the Desert Rose—is for no one in particular. It’s something that I concocted on a whim. I sat down with nothing in my head, with no plans and a blank piece of paper. And this is what came out. The majority of the drawing I do, these days, is for fun. Business has dropped considerably at True Love—I’m hardly there anymore. I may as well just give the place up.

Karina gestures to the pieces she wants; direct replicas of the tattoos gracing the model’s arms, her shoulders. The bigger pieces. All of it, then. She wants all of it. She doesn’t want to start small. She wants to go straight for the big guns. I don’t ask her if she’s sure. I take half a minute just to gaze at her—to drink in that expression on her features, to recall that excitable tone in her voice. No, I’m not going to ask her if she’s sure. She sounds pretty damned sure to me.

I can’t help but wonder about the woman. What’s prompted her to so suddenly want ink? And so much of it? Is this the beginning of a life change? A quarter life crisis? A sudden desire to be someone else? I can’t say I know Karina well enough to make a proper judgement. And so I don’t judge her at all. Instead, I treat this request as a business proposition. I don’t ask any questions. It’s not my place to ask any questions. And so I grin, broad and neat. I nod.

I tear a piece of paper from the bottom corner of the sketch pad. From the multitude of accoutrement spread around me, I retrieve a fine-tipped black ink pen. I use my knee as a table—the words I write come out a little more wobbly than usual, though they remain clipped and neat:

“When?”

A simple question. There are plenty of things she ought to know—this might take a few sessions. It’s going to take quite a few hours to finish these pieces. I don’t know whether she wants spread the sessions out over a few months, or knock them all over in a week. It doesn’t matter, given that we’re vampires. The skin heals quickly. It ought not to hinder Karina too much, if she prefers the latter.

“How quickly?”

I write, underneath the first question. Pertinent enough, I suppose.

Rina had caught sight of the shrug in his shoulders when he looked down at the Desert Rose. She could tell that there were several things frunning though his mind but she wasn't like Lions who possessed those creepy and invading telepath powers that let him speak to her without moving his mouth or see her whereabouts or her going-ons but she did hope that he didn't pop into her mind until she was able to get home and surprise him with what she had in mind.

The tattoo was more for herself than it was for anyone else. It was to show that she wasn't who she was before and who she felt that she was. The makeover was to show the difference that she felt between the little girl with the dream of being a professoinal dancer to the now where she was a dance teacher and killed people for a living. Those were two completely different worlds and she intended to separate them now. She didn't care about the thoughts of others but she did care about what her family thought and they would accept her change knowing that she did it for herself which was the right reason. Anyone else that didn't have a clue about her that wanted to chastise that abuse to her 'virgin' skin would get a smug look as she blew them a kiss in a '**** you' jesture. Rina was still that sweet, caring woman that showed compassion to her friend and family but who was anyone else but another person walking the street with an opinion. Their thoughts and opinions were none of her concern and she would let them know it.

As the sound of ripping paper bounced around in her ears, she was pulled from her thoughts. She noticed that Jesse was writing her a little note. A single word but that was all that he needed to write for her to understand.

"As soon as you are able. I don't want to pull you way if you are busy to demand attention or monopolize a great deal of your time. Let me know when you are available."

Simple questions were always easy to answer. Not that she had issues with more indepth questions but those typically took more indepth responses which she figured wasn't needed for what she is asking Jesse to do. Noticing that he was writing another note, she tilted her head and looked down as she let her eyes follow his hand until each word was completed. Rina couldn't help but notice how pretty his handwriting was even though he was writing on his leg for a table but it was far better than her girly chicken scratch that was in her black leather bound journal that was considered her 'Book of Shadows' for her rituals. Every note and attempt to each ritual was in that book and one would have to attempt to decipher her poor handwriting to figure any of it out. Hell, she had even gotten lazy in some spots and there were post-in notes taped in from where Zodiac had helped her with rituals that she hadn't completed yet. If she had Jesse's handwriting, no one would ever have to question her notes or even wonder if any of it made sense to her. A light chuckle slipped from her as she looked up at him.

"I don't know much about tattoos other than they are an expression of oneself but I am willing to learn. Just let me know what I need to do, what I need to bring, what I should expect, and how much I owe you. I will listen and do exactly as instructed."

She sat the magazine in her lap and pulled her lip gloss out of her purse. She coated her lips that seemed to feel dry to her before putting it away and took a sip of the mug that she seemingly forgot that she was holding. One step closer to a new her and it sent chilling tingles of excitement through her.

This one amuses me. This kind of situation is rare. Normally, those who want full sleeves, or any kind of massive tattoo, do so bit by bit. They don’t decide, straight up, that’s what they want. Normally, it’s a slow decision. An inkling, starting with something small, slowly flourishing and growing into something big. If they want an arm tattoo, that’s what they get. It’s only afterwards that they decide they want a shoulder tattoo. And then a back tattoo. And then the bicep, and then the other sleeve. A slow, meandering process that I see as a slow recognition of an addiction. Once you get one tattoo, you cannot stop.

Karina doesn’t have any other tattoos. Not that I know. This isn’t a slow recognition of an addiction. This is nothing like an addiction. This is straight up, the lot. But I am a man who will do as he is told, as far as business is concerned. If that is what she wants, then it is what I will give her.

What amuses me is the list of queries. Not quite questions, but things that I must acknowledge and answer. I smile and spread my hands, gesturing to the spread in front of me. I’m hardly busy. I’m not busy much these days – unless with my childer, I don’t much work at my own parlour anymore. The dust has probably spread a thin layer over all the benches, and the chair. My most valuable guns, ink, and tools are in the hut behind me. Unless hunting with Tytonidae, then, I do not do much with my time.

I lean over the pad again to write:

“You don’t need to do anything but show up.
You don’t need to bring anything.
You can expect a very long process – not as long as if you were human, but is a big job. Will take a while.
You can expect a bit of pain. How’s your threshold?
Consider it on the house. I’m feeling nice tonight.”

I take another glance at the magazine spread, flicking the pages to take a closer look at the designs Karina wants. I’ll need to redraw them, sketch them, and allow Karina to preview them to make sure they are to her satisfaction. I lean over to write again:

“Give me a couple of nights to sketch. Meet me back here – same time, three nights from now?”

I sit back, allowing Karina access to the white page of paper, and the words that I have written there.

Rina knew that she would do further research on tattoos when she got home for the day but she was pretty determined and she was going to go through with this. Tilting her head to look down at the magazine as Jesse began to flip through pages again. She smiled as she sipped from her mug though her hunger took over and she quickly finished the contents and held the mug idly in her hand. These would be her first tattoos but she also knew that if you couldn't go big then you should just go home. She was definitely going big.

Shifting to hang her legs over the edge, she swung her feet as she watched him grab the pad of paper. Tilting her head, she read what he had to say as he wrote them down. Nodding her head as she completely understood and was shocked the moment that he wrote that the tattoos were on the house. She knew that the work that she was looking to have was thousands of dollars and he was being generous to give them to her for free. She looked up at him and smiled.

"I have been shot and and blown up by traps several times so I think the pain will be easy enough. As for the long process, I completely understand and if it deals with healing. I can always heal if that will help."

Anticipation was getting the better of her and she definitely decided that she needed to go on a hunt to work out all of her excitement before she burst. As she caught sight of him writing again, she smiled.

"Of course." She stood up and gathered her mug as she looked down at him. "I will be back in three days. Thank you so much, Jesse. I really appreciate it. I will leave the magazine with you." She turned and nearly skipped away as she took her mug back to her hut and then hit the fadeportal to go hunting for the evening. Three days couldn't come fast enough but she also knew that she couldn't rush him nor should she or the quality would be jeopadized.