What's in a tattoo? (Jesse Fforde)

[Trigg (DELETED 9410)]

JESSE It was steady, but not run-off-their-feet busy. The bar was taking care of itself, staffed properly and running smooth. Jesse, on account of his unnatural vibe, was banned from serving the customers. He could smile all he liked but they still didn't like him. On the nights Jesse was behind the counter, they inevitably lost money. It was better for him to lurk, to watch from afar -- to pretend like he was anything but the boss, or an employee. Given he was the main tattoo artist, however, he was the only one manning the parlour; it was quiet, he had no clients and he was all up to date on his commissions. A space had been cleared around the darts, where Jesse wiled away his time -- no one wanting to go anywhere near him. He kept an eye on the parlour, in case anyone should walk in. The A-Frame was out the front, bright colours telling the world that the artist inside had time for walk-ins. All Jesse had to do was wait.

TRIGG Trigg had slipped into the bar on a whim, feeling strong and bold from a recent feed he wasn't keen on just heading home. He felt the blood pumping through him, he felt vibrant and vicious, he felt like a proud predator with his fangs still sharp, working on retracting. There was something of a peacock in the way he walked, colourful and carefree, ordering his drink and drifting towards the real reason he'd wanted to come to Serpentine. It was the tattoo parlour that had caught his attention, he was nosey at best when it came to the work of others, many of his collected from people who interested him or his own brother, a talented artist. Sipping at his beer he headed up to see if he could eyeball some artwork, pass judgment on the artist.

JESSE Darts got boring after a while. With vampiric dexterity and precision Jesse soon lost the joy of hitting a bulls eye. The wall that separated the bar from the tattoo parlour was glass. There was a lot of glass in Serpentine, of the bullet proof kind. The front of the parlour could be seen from the bar, from the counter forward. The walls were plastered with Jesse's artwork, plush red couches in the front as a waiting area, or a meeting area. When the vampire witnessed a punter wander up to the glass to peer into the parlour, he breathed a sigh of relief. Please! Let it be a customer. Something to break up the evening. He threw the rest of the darts haphazardly at the board before wandering over to the door that separated bar from parlour. "Looking for ink, man?" he asked, hopefully.

TRIGG It was easy for him to get absorbed in artwork, to see the potential in the simplest of sketches or to try and decipher meaning from the most complex of twisted lines. He poured a lot of his time, energy and soul into artwork, whether it was his graffiti or the photography that shortly followed. When he was looking at art, when he was contemplating it he usually felt at ease, so when he felt the slow creeping chill up his spine that set him ill at ease he turned to look around. The man came towards him, a hopeful expression that seemed out of place on his face somehow. Clearly this was the artist. Trigggave himself a shake, swigging another deep draw of his beer. "Mmm, yah. Not right now, but now now." He muttered, flicking his gaze back to the art. "Yours?"

JESSE Jesse arched a brow and nodded. "Yeah. Not right now but now now. Bit of a contradiction, that one," he said, opening the door wide and gesturing inside. The music that played in the bar also played in the tattoo parlour, so that there was no clash. It was a playlist of mostly punk -- from the 80s til now. "Come through and have a better look, if you want. Let me know what kind of thing you're interested in," he said. Sure, the guy had said not right now but that didn't mean never. He could be convinced, swayed. "Bring your beer, I don't mind."

TRIGG The young South African looked at him like maybe he was a bit soft in the head, not helped by the fact that he still felt oddly ill at ease, feeling it always like a queer twisting in his gut, a persistent queasy sensation. Maybe beer and blood just didn't mix? The blood thief made a mental note of that, not like it stopped him taking another sip when the artist reminded him it was still in his hand. Trigg entered the parlour on the invitation, taking a more obvious look around. "Don't be dof. Now now, it's like... Later." He explained, exaggerating the word later, dragging it out with a poorly imitated Canadian accent. His speech generally came out at a more frantic pace, matching his ambitious gaze and need to move, whether it be a foot tapping or thumb nail scraping idly at the label of beer bottle in his hand as it was at the present. "My brother is a tattoo artist, ja, bold style. Big, colour, BOOM." He laughed, tugging up the hem of shirt with his free hand, flashing a tattoo on his lower abdomen that said just that. "Check. Really dynamite, though this is crap, he did it first when we were kids." Even if it wasn't the most impressive looking piece the lines were clean and it was a fun, bold piece that kind of said a lot about his personality. While he'd covered a lot of his body over the years that one would always be extra special, because it had been the start of his twin's tattooing journey.

[Jesse Fforde]

JESSE Jesse could see, yes, that the guy was covered in ink. Well, not completely covered, but covered enough. He also spoke like some kind of coke addict, twitchy almost. The accent was not one that Jesse could immediately pinpoint, though he narrowed his eyes wondering if the guy was poking fun at Jesse's own. Regardless, Jesse remained calm, bemused even as he leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed over his chest. "So you want more big colour boom?" Jesse asked. The question hadn't really been answered. Jesse didn't want to know about the guy's brother's tattooing style. That was irrelevant to the conversation at hand. He refrained from commenting on how 'now now' was a ludicrous way to say 'later'. Best not to insult a potential big spender.

TRIGG "More? Nah. I have that. I collect, I like it to fit but... The whole point is to show a style, to showcase an artist. Most of this is from a good time, a great connection or just respect for awesome. You get it?" He asked the man, becoming slightly more focused as he discussed his desires in more detail. "Colour or nah, sommer I like it." He gestured to the stuff around him, "What do you enjoy best? Your favourite work to do?"

JESSE Jesse took a deep breath and held it, considering the question. Eventually he shrugged. "It depends on the day," he said, before pushing away from the counter to move around behind it. He vaguely gestured to the walls; there were two or three large panels, all depicting snakes; one of a snake wended through a skull, one of medusa, one of the famous Jormundandr -- the world snake. The symbol Jesse had claimed for Fforde. Each panel was bold, the colours blended perfectly, the lines sharp. There were other panels, too -- one hundred plus flash designs ranging from Jesse's days as an apprentice to now. The differences were stark. He'd come a long way. Jesse pulled out a folder and slid it toward his guest. "Mythology is my forte. Blending. I have a range of styles," he said.

TRIGG Trigg followed the gesture, looking at the pieces more closely, seeing the pattern. Snakes were often associated with deception, quiet potential killers to most, but some loved them, found them cool and comforting, hypnotic in nature. Trigg was on the fence. He could see the appeal, but understood how sharp those fangs could be and how quick the strike. "Deadly." He muttered, dragging the folder towards him, flicking through it. "Trigg is Norse." A few pages later he seemed to remember something, amber eyes flicking up to look at the artist. "My name. So... If you could do anything, on an open canvas...?"

JESSE "Again, it depends on the day. And my mood. Anything? It's probably gonna end up being a snake. Or a skull. Or a pretty lady -- fire. Norse? I've a pet snake, Jormungandr. She appears in a lot of my art..." he said, absently. "The world tree works well as a full back piece. Fenrir is fun, if you want a ferocious wolf. Unless you want one of the gods, but then you'll have to tell me which one has more meaning to you..." he said. Jesse himself identified a lot with Loki. But to admit as much would be to reveal too much. Trigg was a stranger. That just would not do. Still, Jesse plucked one of his business cards from the stand in front of the register. "Jesse Fforde. Keep that. For now now."


TRIGG He wasn’t entirely convinced, he certainly didn’t think he needed a god on his body, on his back watching him. The wolf held a certain charm, ferocity and a slathering lust for revenge. Skulls, snakes and pretty ladies always held an appeal, done in a classic style they were the kind of piece that would last a long time but he wanted something more appropriate. “Something with fangs, would be fokken right, something befok ya know?” Trigg took the card, studying it, considering it. “Maybe i’ll drop by again. See what you have on your mind then.” His tongue tapped idly against one of his canines, distracted as he bent over the portfolio, flicking through and making a mental note of some of the pieces he liked.

He tipped back the last of his beer, palming the bottle to deposit at the bar on his way out. “I’m off before I decide to get too dronk, bru.” He reached into his pocket, grabbing out a card of his own showcasing TriggR, owner of Trigger Warning, urban artist and photographer. “Catch.” His hand lifted in a lazy salute, making to do a casual turn on his heel, to head towards the main bar once more. The uneasiness just couldn’t be shaken, it was cutting into his high and he felt the need to get out of this place and shake it off before he gave in to it.


JESSE Jesse narrowed his eyes as he took the card, one brow twitching. It was as if this guy was speaking some kind of pidgin language that Jesse didn’t quite understand. Befok? What the **** was ‘befok’? Fangs he could do, he supposed -- he’d done a few in his time, more lately than before. Pretty ladies with fangs, blood dripping from their lips. It was arousing, honestly, and many of his pieces were based on people he knew. Women he knew.

As soon as the guy was gone, Jesse deposited the card behind the counter, perhaps to peruse later. He rolled his shoulders and gave up. The sign from outside would be brought in, the tattoo parlour closed. There was nothing to do there, and the prospect of drawing just didn’t appeal. He’d go find something else to do. Maybe, he’d hunt down Clover.