Unforgettable Ink

It was a lazy sort of afternoon, with hazy golden skies and the smell of cherry blossoms in the air. Sarah sat at the front desk with her headphones in her ears. Otherworldly Images— tattoo-artists, specializing in all kinds of tattoos and piercings, magical and regular— was open, though empty at the moment. Natasha and Samuel had dispersed somewhere in the shop, leaving Sarah to man the front desk.

Sarah didn’t really mind. Her desk– more of a table, really— sat right in fat the top of the steps leading up the front door, providing her an excellent view of not only the street but also the street outside, thanks glass panels on the door.

Headphones in her ears, Sarah watched the sylphs playing out of the window. Her grey eyes followed the sylphs as they swooped and flitted around, breezing between the passers-by and messing with their clothes, hair or footing. Her attention was caught by the latest passer-by— a thin young man with a mob of messy red hair. He had long legs and long arms, and wore skinny jeans and oversized boots which only accentuated his lankiness. The sylphs chased after him as he hurried along the footpath, tugging at his hair and chittering excitedly as he batted at them. The man looked around and scowled, his eye passing over the window and meeting Sarah’s. He blinked, stopped the batting and hurried around the corner. Sarah dismissed him from her mind for the next minute, when the door opened and he entered.

Sarah sat up straighter, plastering a smile on her face. The red-headed man climbed up the steps two at a time, ran his hands through his hair— apparently to mess it up even more— and leaned against the desk.

“Hi,” he said. “I, uh, I got an appointment for today. With Samuel?”

Sarah blinked. “Right,” she said, pulling up the appointments log on her computer. “John Barker?”

“Yep,” nodded the guy eagerly. “I called round about a week ago. Some girl took the call.”

“That would have been me.”

“Oh? You remember me?”

“No, but I take all the appointments here,” Sarah said, who remembered the appointment for its rarity, but didn’t want the guy to get overly-familiar. He didn’t look the type though— he fidgeted with his sleeve and looked around.

“Where’s Samuel?” he asked. “I’ve heard he’s quite the eccentric.”

“Please sit,” Sarah said, gesturing him towards the waiting-area before she headed off towards the break-room.

The break-room was an airy room right at the back of the shop. Windows lined two walls, letting in the glorious sunlight; the other two walls were covered with tattoo designs and sketches of all styles. Samuel was nowhere in sight, but Natasha, the owner of the place, was crouched over the large table in the centre of the room. She was tall, with a pale, pointed face and brown hair. A self-professed aesthete, she spent most of her free time in the shop working on body-modification spells.

“Look,” she said as Sarah entered, holding up something glimmering in her hand. “You like it?”

“What is it?” Sarah asked, moving towards her to take a closer look. There was a pastel blue poppy inked inside Natasha’s wrist; to the side, next to the tattoo-machine, lay a needle in a steel tray, stained with a drop of blood.

“Works with body heat,” Natasha said, tilting her head to the side. “Done right, it shouldn’t ever fade.”

“Nice,” Sarah said. “Hope there’s nothing metallic in there, otherwise the idea’s never going take.”

“No, just a luminating spell on regular ink,” Natasha said proudly, then dropped her hand to look up at Sarah. “I’m guessing Samuel’s client is here?”

“Yep,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t look like the guy to be getting anything Samuel can give him.”

“Don’t write him off, he’s Sebastian’s friend,” Natasha said, getting to her feet. “And where is Samuel anyway?”

“I’ll message him,” Sarah said, pulling out her phone. Even as she did so, the door opened again and Samuel entered. He was unhealthily pale, a thin, grey-eyed man with a perpetual scowl on his face. A dark shadow flickered under his skin, dipping into and out of the full sleeves and open collar of his shirt.

“Your client’s here,” Natasha told him.

“I know,” Samuel said with gritted teeth. “He wants a remembrance tattoo.”

“I don’t know why you act like its pulling teeth,” Natasha told him. “You’re good at it; one of the best, in fact.”

“Because people act like I am pulling their teeth,” Samuel grouched. “None of them can get it through their heads that its not something that can be done in one go. I’m telling you, this one’s gonna raise a stink as well.”

“I don’t care. He’s paying money, and he’s Sebastian’s friend,” Natasha said. “You need to get over the fact that some people are going to bitch at you sometimes. Either do that or get out of the game.”

Samuel scowled, then shrugged and turned back. “Fine,” he said, striding out.

Natasha shook her head. “A proper artist, he is,” she said. “In olden times he’d have been throwing fits and dying in a ditch instead of bowing to the aristocracy, or whatever it is those temperamental artists used to do.”

“I know,” Sarah said with a sigh. She hurried back towards the waiting-area, just in time to see Samuel stride back towards the work-rooms, followed by a confused-looking John.

“That’s Samuel?” he mouthed at her. “What’s wrong with his skin?”

“A demonic tattoo,” she said, giving him a thumbs-up and following him to the work-room.

The work-rooms were designed to be calming— the décor was sea-green and chromium silver the walls covered with collages of tattoos and imbued with serenity spells. John settled down onto the client’s chair with practiced ease; Samuel sat down in a chair, crossing his arms.

“So,” he said. “In your emails you said that you wanted a remembrance tattoo.”

“Yes,” John said eagerly. “For my brother.”

“This isn’t your first tattoo, is it?”

“Of course not.” John pulled back his sleeves to expose tattoos up both arms— a skull-and-thorn pattern on the left, and some foreign writing on the right. “See?” he said. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“These are regular tattoos,” Samuel said. “You should know that a remembrance tattoo is very different.”

“How so?”

Samuel pursed his lips. “For starters, it’ll take more than a couple of visits to get it done,” he said flatly. “A remembrance tattoo is made by turning a dead person’s ashes into ink. In addition to all the problems of a regular tattoo— the pain, itching, subsequent care— there’s a chance that the tattoo won’t take. If there is some emotional conflict within you, it manifests in the form of an allergic reaction.”

“Emotional conflict?” John said, frowning.

“Yes,” Samuel answered. “grief, anger, frustration, any ill-will towards the dead person, it’ll affect the tattoo. And every time you come back, it’ll start all over again.”

“But why?” John asked.

“It’s the nature of the tattoo,” Samuel said with a shrug. “All tattoos modify your skin, but this one modifies your soul. It melds a memory of the dead person to you. As such, while the tattoo is healing, it needs spiritual stability.”

“But I am stable,” John said. “Spiritually and emotionally.”

“Good to hear that,” Samuel said. “Because otherwise you’re going to be in a world of pain— redness, itching, hallucinations.”

John raised a brow. “Hallucinations?” he echoed.

“Hallucinations,” Samuel repeated. “Emotional disturbances. Nightmares. That kind of stuff. If you see your dead brother hanging around, don’t freak out. Try some over-the-counter aura-cleansing potions; those and painkillers are going to be your best friends during the time.”

John let out a strangled snort. “All right,” he said. “But tell me something: its not going to hurt my brother’s soul, is it?”

“Of course not,” Samuel said disdainfully. “You can’t hurt the dead. He’s gone and done with.”

“Oh, okay,” John said. “I just don’t want to botch up his afterlife or something.” He glanced up at Sarah, who gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “Samuel knows what he’s doing. I’m sure you’ll be more than happy with the final result.”

“I’m sure,” John said. “Sebastian recommended you guys pretty highly, and I love the way his tattoos have come out.”

“Thank you,” Samuel said. “But with regards to the design, you liked the wolf’s head?”

“Yep,” John said eagerly. “Let’s do this.”

===================================================

The initial design, a stylized wolf’s head, had been easy enough that even Sarah could have done it. She’d hung around as Samuel worked on John’s chest, somewhat surprised at the nonchalance with which the latter took it. He’d certainly seemed happy when he’d left.

Which was why it was such a surprise when he showed up bright at early the next day, red-faced and frazzled.

“Hi,” he said, and Sarah noted that his boots didn’t match. “I need help.”

“Bad reaction?” she asked. “Did you try painkillers?”

“My brother’s ghost followed me to the bathroom,” John said, wide-eyed. “I couldn’t poop in peace, he just hung there like a demented bulb, whitened eyes silently judging me! You know what it’s like when you can’t poop?”

Sarah pursed her lips, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Uh, sorry,” she said. “We’ve got some aura-cleansing potions here that we give to clients for emergencies. I—”

“I think something’s wrong,” John interrupted. “The tattoo’s blackening.” And without pausing for decorum, he pulled open his jacket to reveal that a) he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and b) his tattoo was indeed sending out tendrils of black creeping along his skin.

Sarah gasped, stopping herself from clapping her hand to her mouth. “Oh my,” she said. “I’ll get Samuel.”

“Please hurry!” John said in a strangled tone. Sarah nodded to him, hurrying back to the break-room. Natasha wasn’t in yet, but Samuel lay snoring on the sofa in the corner.

“Samuel,” she said, shaking him awake. He bolted upright, scowling blearily in every direction before fixing her with his glare.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Its John,” she explained. “His tattoo’s turning black.”

“I told him there would be complications.”

“That’s not a complication I’ve ever seen before,” she said. “And I’ve seen every remembrance tattoo you’ve done. Will you please stop wallowing around and check it? He’s Sebastian’s friend! Also, he’s not overreacting, it really is pretty bad.”

Samuel made a face but got to his feet. Straightening out his clothes, he walked out to the reception, where he caught sight of John and stopped.

“The hell,” he said.

“Exactly,” John said, practically hopping with agitation.

Samuel snorted. “You told me that you were stable,” he said. “You said that you were over it.”

“Over what? My brother’s death? I am!”

“You are not,” Samuel said flatly. “That’s a severe reaction to the remembrance. You hated him or something?”

John’s eyes widened. “I did not!” he exclaimed, fists clenching. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I said,” Samuel said. “This isn’t just the marks of grief; there are negative emotions inside you. You need to have the tattoo removed.”

“What?” John said, staring at him with disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

“I am,” Samuel said, just as Natasha entered the front door.

Sarah looked at Natasha. Natasha looked at Sarah. Sarah nodded towards Samuel, and Natasha immediately strode over to interpose herself between her employees and the disgruntled client.

“I’m sorry,” she said, then did a double-take at the sight of John. “What happened?”

“I’m seeing my dead brother!” John said, pointing wildly at the air. “He’s right there, he’s just hanging there!”

“Calm down—” began Natasha placatingly

“And the tattoo that this guy did is turning black,” John said, shaking his head wildly. “And now he’s telling me that I have to get it removed.”

“Natasha, I did my best, but his emotions aren’t in check,” Samuel said. “The stigma’s a sign of that, he needs to get the whole tattoo removed.”

“I seriously don’t get it,” John said. “You’re being really, really unprofessional here! Can’t you do something?”

“Its too far gone for a cleansing potion,” Samuel told him. “It’s actively spreading, you moron. A couple of more hours and you’ll need an exorcism.”

“Moron? You did this!”

“Enough.” Natasha held up her hands. “I’m sorry Mr. Barker, we’ll—”

“Can I speak to you alone for a moment?” Sarah interrupted, stepping towards John.

Everyone turned to her, Samuel and Natasha’s expression curious. John shrugged balefully.

“Sure,” he said.

Sarah led him to one of the work-rooms— the one they’d used the previous day, she absently noted as she closed the door. John walked over to the far wall, his eyes twitching from her to the far corner, where presumably his brother’s ghost was hanging out.

“So,” he said. “What did you want to say?”

Sarah took a deep breath. “Samuel is one of the best tattooists here,” she said. “He knows his work.”

“Knows his work!” John exclaimed. “He’s an ass! Plus, he botched it up, didn’t he?”

“He did understate the effects of the tattoo,” Sarah admitted. “But then again this is the worst reaction I’ve ever seen.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“Tell me why you hate your brother.”

John froze, staring at her. “What?” he said. “What makes you think I hate my brother?”

“Because that’s what it looks like,” Sarah said. “Look, people who get a remembrance tattoo usually aren’t stable. They can’t be— they’re grieving, upset, angry and lost. We’ve had people here who started bawling while getting tattoos, and none of them have had as bad a reaction as this.”

“I—” John licked his lips, nostrils flaring as he exhaled. “This is really none of your business,” he said.

“It kinda is,” Sarah said. “As of right now, you’re accusing us of having botched your tattoo, but the thing is that you knew you had to be in an emotionally stable state to get one. So why’d you lie?”

“Because I didn’t lie!” John exclaimed. “I don’t hate my brother, I’ve never hated him! I hate the fact that he’s gone, I hate the fact that he’s not here, that he’ll never be here again, that-that I could have died while he—” he broke off, dropping his head and burying his eyes with his hand.

Sarah pursed her lips. “Can you tell me what happened to him?” she asked softly.

“He died,” John said miserably, without looking at her. “He wasn’t supposed to, but he did. And I’m here. I wasn’t supposed to be here, but I am. And it sucks.”

“You resent him, don’t you?”

He looked up at her, eyes red. “Maybe, probably,” he said. “I don’t know.” He winced and rubbed at his eyes before continuing: “He was the reliable one, the one who could do no wrong. Hell, it made me mad at times, but I couldn’t hate him, could I?”

“No, you can’t,” Sarah said. “I mean, Samuel’s an ass, and not at all reliable, but I can’t bring myself to hate him.”

John’s eyes snapped towards her. “That jerk’s your brother?” he said incredulously.

Sarah nodded wryly. “Unfortunately,” she said. “He’s been such a pain over the years— a prodigy in the arts, but a complete and total moron otherwise. He was eighteen when he started working here; within a couple of years he was doing demon tattoos, something even experienced tattooists struggle with. I was just regular by comparison, so I was stuck babysitting him.”

“He could be the best goddamn tattooist on the planet, he’s still gonna lose clients if he keeps behaving this way,” John muttered.

“Still, I’d hate to lose him. I nearly did once: he got pneumonia, and I swear if he’d died, I’d have summoned his ghost just to kill him again.”

John gave a watery chuckle. “Brothers do be like that,” he said. “If only he could actually come back, I-I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Maybe you would benefit from some therapy,” Sarah said awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Real therapy, not just a talk with some girl who’s not even qualified to tattoo people, let alone advise them.”

“Probably,” John said. “Though this still doesn’t help me about the tattoo. I don’t want to remove it; it was painful enough the first time.”

“Really?” Sarah said, raising her brows. “You seemed so calm yesterday!”

“Well yeah, I wasn’t gonna be acting like a baby!” he said. “But I don’t want to go through with it again.”

“So you’re okay with seeing your brother’s ghost?”

“I don’t know,” John said, pulling at his sleeve. “I just— wait a minute.” He looked around, then back at her. “He’s gone!”

“Gone?” Sarah said. “Your brother’s ghost’s gone?”

“Yeah!” John looked around wildly, then threw open his jacket and whooped with excitement. “It's getting better!”

Indeed, the stigmata around the tattoo had decreased from black to red, making it look like a normal new tattoo. John looked back at her with a grin.

“Did you do this?” he said.

“I have no idea,” Sarah said, a little surprised at the change in the stigmata. “But it’s clear that therapy would help you.”

“So I’m not going to have to get the tattoo removed?”

“Possibly not,” Sarah said, opening the door to reveal Natasha and Samuel standing outside.

“Oh,” Natasha said smoothly, “Oh, Mr. John, its good to see that the reaction to your tattoo has decreased.”

“Hmph,” Samuel said from behind her. “It does look better. I’d still advise you to go to the doctor, though.”

“Aw, no, dude!” John groaned.

“Come on, John,” Sarah said. “Please? I told you, he’s an ass, but he does know his job.”

“Oh, fine,” John said, throwing his hands. “I’ll go to the doctor. If necessary, I’ll have the tattoo removed. But there is one thing— I am going to tell Sebastian about all of this.”

"What?" Sarah said with alarm.

"Its fine," Kouyou whispered to her. "So as long as he doesn't trash us online, he can tell Sebastian whatever he wants."