ArchivedLogs:Invisible Ink

Invisible Ink
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Rogue, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-01-10 '
Location <NYC> Inkline Studios - Lower East Side
The front room of Inkline Studio is small, and does not, particularly, look like a tattoo parlor at all. Framed surrealist oil paintings line the walls instead of the typical flash ink, although interspersed are a handful of tasteful, artistic photographs of various people displaying their tattoos that might give away the nature of this business. Black leather armchairs cluster around a low glass coffee table; large black binders that sit on the table contain portfolios of the past work done in the studio. A glass counter stretches along the length of one wall, a plethora of various body jewelry on display; the 'front desk' sits at the far end of the counter, computer and cash register and large file cabinet making up the work space. The piercing and tattoo rooms are in the back, brightly lit and sterile, with doors closeable for privacy. Afternoon on Thursday is not the busiest time of day, for tattooing; the studio is not empty, but it is slow all the same. The steady drone of a needle comes from behind one of the doors in the back; in the waiting room a pair of young men sit on the couch with one of the binders, rifling through past work. From the back one of the doors is opening, a rather brightly-coloured young man -- bright-purple and lime-green hair, a tight metallic-blue top over a black fishnet shirt, glittery blue nails, chunky silver-and-blue sneakers, silver-studded black jeans -- is escorting out a thin greying woman who is already restlessly picking at the tape attaching flat dressing to her wrist. "-- not till you get /home/," Jackson is saying to her with a laugh, though from the myriad of designs already visible on her arms before she pulls her jacket back on, it's likely she doesn't /need/ many aftercare instructions. He bids her farewell with a peck on the cheek, familiar enough that it's likely some of those older designs were his; she returns it but adds in a few folded bills pressed into his palm. And then it is back to the front counter for him, with glances over towards the pair waiting on the couch. Only briefly, and then he is splitting his attention between the computer behind the counter and a sketchpad rested in his lap. Before the departing client can open the door, it's opened for her. Shelby's even mannerly enough to hold it for the woman, although the girl fidgets and rolls her eyes (when greying woman isn't looking). Then she sweeps in, bundled in so many layers of winter gear that her head looks tiny and the guitar case hanging by a strap across her shoulders rests at an angle instead of straight. The only thing -not- protected from the cold are the fingers that stick out from her gloves; they're chilled white and are chafed together as she proceeds to the front counter. She might spare a brief look for the young men but it doesn't take an idiot to realize the person to speak to here: it's Jackson and his "hi I'm a tropical parrot!" look that gets the admiring regard. "Oh my -god-, I love your hair. Are you like one of the artists here or just the eye-candy? I wanna talk to one of the artists." "Howdy!" Jackson is chirruping, as the door opens, the Southern greeting matched by a molasses-thick Southern drawl. "Can I --" But then Shelby is speaking already, and he quiets to listen, teeth flashing bright in a grin as his pierced lips curl wide. Despite it being indoors there are sunglasses on his face and he pushes them absently back into place as he sets his sketchpad down. "Can't we be both? Maybe I'm bait /and/ I'm the artist. C'mon," he beckons her towards the counter. "What can I do for you?" Shelby needs no further invitation. She arrives at the counter and collapses against it with arms folded atop to prop her up. To her credit, she may -look- homeless but she doesn't smell it, and at close range she appears to be clean. Clean enough, at least. "You got the bait part down anyway. I need some art. Not like, shit art, but -real- art. I could do it myself but you guys have that...what is it? The special paper? The stuff that moves a picture over to skin, right? I need some of that and maybe some..." But here she trails off, having torn her eyes away from Jackson long enough to look around and realize the lack of flash on the walls. "Uh, where's the cheap pictures?" There's another burst of chilled air coming in through the door, a figure in a hooded green coat slipping in before the hood slides back to reveal shining auburn hair with a white streak. Fair skin contrasts the dark eyes as she starts undoing the buttons on her cloak, a glance at the two young gents to take them in without comment. Then she's shifting away from the door, a smile forming as she spots Jackson, gloved fingers giving a waggle his way to say hello without wanting to interuppt his conversation. "I don't really /sell/ transfer papers," Jackson is starting, slow and maybe a little bemused, "but if you want art, there's plenty of examples --" His hand waves towards the binders over on the table. "I mean, if you're looking to get inked, we can work with you on a design you'll like -- Hey!" This last is chirped brighter, with a bright smile to match as he curls glittery-nailed fingers towards the newcomer. The door opening leaves Shelby to glance back, though with all of the padding she's wearing, she has to turn rather than swivel to get a look at the new arrival. Her smile is small, polite and soon terminated when she turns back to Jackson. "I don't want -examples-," she stresses, "I want art. On transfer paper. So I -can- get inked. Just...not like you think." This is said with far too much smug, considering her lack of apparent mods and the person to whom she's speaking. "Look, it's totally important, okay? I mean. It could...what's the word. Revolutionize. Revolutionize your job, you know? I don't want you to sell me the stuff, just let me borrow some papers." Rogue glances at the bundled figure, a hint of a nod with her smile before she's shifting to linger somewhere nearby. She sort of can't help overhearing since she's close by. But she'll hide her intrigue at the idea of revolutionizing tattooing. No needles, maybe? That idea could certainly appeal to a Rogue. "Borrow?" Jackson's eyebrows lift from behind his large mirrored glasses. "They're just one-time use. Uh. If you're gonna revolutionize tattooing, shouldn't you be talkin' to a patent office, 'stead'a me?" He sounds more curious than condescending, though his smile might be a little amused. "Anyway, we don't /put/ art on transfer paper unless we need to -- you know. Transfer it. To a person. Who's about to get inked." He is leaning against the counter, now, languid-casual with his arms propped against it; beneath the fishnet sleeves his own myriad host of bright-inked tattoos is only partially obscured. His voice lifts just slightly to carry past Shelby and to Rogue. "Y'gonna let me needle you?" he asks with amiable cheer. "If this works, they won't be just one-time use," Shelby argues. She is maintaining an admirable calm considering the general prickliness of the teenage years. "Look..." But he's speaking to the woman who just came in, leaving the girl to huff a little. Oh my -gawd-, her life is hard. Jackson has driven her to it-- it's time to make an example of him. While he's distracted, she leans over the counter a little and looks hard at his...arms. That's all, just his arms. Or one arm, the one on top of the arm-fold. Beneath the fishnet, something stirs. And then another something. And another, as paintbrushes "woven" through his skin begin to pull free and inch towards his wrist like giant malformed caterpillars. The wreath of thorns that circles his wrist quivers in horror. Ono! "Only if you promise to not let me see ya load the gun.." Rogue drawls back to the Georgian, smiling as she's fishing a sheet of paper out of one of the pockets on her cloak. "Who else would Ah let even near me, after all?" Since Jackson would know of the precautions and all needed to tattoo the southern belle, without the awkward conversation. She pauses, staring at Jackson's arm as things.. move. Dark eyes look over at the young woman, then dart up to Jackson's with not panic, but a curious worry. "Y'know," Jackson is saying, cheerfully polite to Shelby, "there's websites where y'can get --" But he breaks off with a quick look darted downwards towards his arms. A quick hand rubbed against one sleeve like scratching an itch -- and then pulling it back to study his skin free of obstruction. His brow furrows, deeply; for a moment there's a frown, then a quick flash of smile, then he looks up towards the others in the waiting room. The images on his arms vanish altogether, replaced by a blank stretch of skin before he rolls his sleeve back into place. His tone is casual-light as he beckons Rogue closer, glancing towards the paper. "What've you got a mind for? I'll do it however makes y'comfortable, hon," he is saying to her, though his attention is still on Shelby. "What," he wants to know, with a generous dose of curiosity, "is that?" Shelby is poised up on the balls of her feet, ready to charge for the door-- showing off like this has its occasional downsides, after all. But when the worst she gets is worry, the girl gradually relaxes. In rolls her smile again, gap-toothed and cocky...only to disappear when the images on Jackson's arm do as well. "Heyyy..." She was fucking with those! "I was gonna put them back," she claims. "It's just what I do, you know? Like you did...whatever that was." Her eyes flick towards Rogue, assessing the woman's likelihood of freaking out; the threat appears minimal, so she speaks plainly...and softly. "Look, I can't afford the stuff myself but that paper's the best thing for me to practice on. Help a sister out?" Rogue looks a long, long way from freaking out as she's unfolding and trying to smooth out a piece of paper with several sketches on it. The paper bears ink and pencil marks, varying designs of the same three things grouped together: A magnolia bloom, with one of lupine and another of gardenia, at least at first glance, though some of the lines form other, somewhat hidden images. "All I did was try not to attract --" Jackson shrugs a shoulder, the images on his arms slowly rippling back into visibility. "What /do/ you do, exactly? Cuz that --" His nose crinkles. "Felt weird. But it was cool. I don't often have /animated/ ink." Which might imply he sometimes does? His nails drum slowly against the counter, even as his other hand is reaching for his sketchpad to open it to a blank page. He is glancing at Rogue's paper, and even without picking up a pencil the images print themselves on the page in front of him, a perfect replica though only for a moment before it is absently tweaking details of linework and shading in the various designs. "I know these," he says to Rogue with a tap at the magnolia and gardenia, "but which is this?" And to Shelby, albeit slightly distracted by the art in front of him, "-- What did you want on the paper, exactly? And -- how much of it?" "Sweet." It wasn't requested but Shelby gives her opinion anyway, because that's what she does. "Oh man, -sweet-." And again, for the recreation. And -then-, because she can't help it and because those guys weren't looking anyway, she has her own fun with the sketchbook image: petals begin to sway and curl to escape being touched by new linework. But clearly it isn't Shelby doing that because she's not even looking at the page. -Her- eyes, ever so innocently widened, have been raised to study the adults as conversation continues. "I make stuff move. That's why I want the paper, I want to make stuff move from it to -me-. Or whoever, you know?" Rogue is given another glance, this one thoughtful. Hm. "Are you ticklish?" There's a smirk as Jackson starts tweaking things, though her eyes watch to make sure certain things stay in their abstract resemblance. "It's lupine." She says, a hint of nervousness under the amusement in her voice. She's sure the tattooist will get the reference, really, but she's not sure what he'll make of it. Eyes glance at Shelby as Rogue slips out of her cloak to take up a lean on the counter in her short sleeved black shirt and those long, black leather gloves. Her left eyebrow arches up sharply, head tipping slightly as the belle tucks some white strands behind her ear. "Me? Not really." "No ticklin'," Jackson murmurs absently, brows drawing in slightly at Shelby's question. "-- You can make stuff move /off/ the paper?" This is even more intrigued. "I could make you a couple transfers." He isn't watching Shelby, though, just the page; /his/ tweaks of the drawings have left them largely whole, save small nuances of shading, though he looks a little amused at the swaying petals. His fingers drum slowly, studying the flowers. Then studying Rogue. "I like your choices," he says lightly, "where were y'thinking 'bout putting this?" "That means wolf, huh? Lupine." Nosy, nosy. Shelby's willing to let the inquiry slide though, after she's put in her two bits. "I'm just asking 'cause maybe I could like, practice. You know? I'm -working- on moving it off the paper, I figured it'd be easier using paper that is made to...do that." Then she looks at Rogue as if she were an employee here, and she were genuinely interested in the other woman's answer. Yes, Rogue, where were you thinking about putting that? There's a hint of a blush along Rogue's cheels with the approval of her choices. "Ah was thinking the back of my shoulder, most likely. Or maybe along my side, at my hip or something. Ah'm not sure what would be easiest for you an' all." With the special considerations concerning her skin and everything. "Ah'd prefer my side, probably," A look at Shelby. "Of wolves, yes." Eyes slide back to Jackson, a twitch of her lips. It's a silent nod to things past, after all. Jackson eyes the design, and eyes Rogue, lips pursed in thought ater a brief answering curl of his mouth. "It'd look real fine on your side. I'll fix you up proper. You got time right now?" His eyebrows raise, questioning, and then he grins brief. "S'your first time, ain't it?" Behind him another man is coming out, taller and burlier though just about as colourful with his wealth of tattoos, to bring the waiting pair of young men back. One looks nervous. The other looks amused. Jax watches them go, leaning back against the counter once the waiting room is empty. "S'pose I could print you up a couple. But if it works, you gotta come back an' show me. I've never seen a tattoo done /that/ way before. Anything you got in mind?" Shelby purses her lips, playing the expert. "The side of the leg, up near the top? That's where I wanna get my first," is her suggestion. Because it's clear she knows her stuff. Right? Wrong. At least she shuts up when the pair of waiting clients go by. It's a brief respite. "Nah, hey, look...you're like busy in here and shit, but I can totally come back. I got some of my own work for when I know it works, so just whatever, it doesn't have to be fancy since it's just practice. The name's Shelby, okay? Don't forget. Shelby, like the car." "Ah got time now, if you do." Rogue answers with a smile, a hand sliding to push hair back from her face. There's a hint of a chuckle cut off as she clears her throat. "Yeah. First tattoo an' all." She slides her gaze to Shelby, smile shifting to a smirk when she references the car. "No, Ah mean above my hip." About the placement of her tattoo, as she sets her cloak on the counter. Jackson stretches over the counter at Shelby's answer, plucking a business card from a holding rack of several of them to give it to Shelby. Bright and stylized-colourful, it bears his name -- Jax Holland -- and email prominently, with the studio's address and phone and website smaller in the corner. "Y'an artist, too?" is cheerfully curious, and he adds, "Hey, look, you shoot me an email or call or somethin' a day before you want to come back, I'll get a few things ready. Uhm. The other folks who work here --" He waves a hand towards the back, "they know about /me/, they'll be chill with the --" He waves a hand towards the petals that had been waving and curling, "But if there's clients around, y'know, you never know how /they'll/ react. How's this'n?" He switches conversation partners as freely as he switches conversations, tapping a finger against one of the three designs on the page, still largely the same but with a few small tweaks to make the linework more skin-friendly. "You eaten anything today? Think someone," his finger is resting again against the lupine, now, "might kill me if y'passed out on my table." "Yeah, sure, whatever." Dismissive as her reply may be, Shelby does look at the card with some interest before she slides it away in a pocket. Then she pushes away from the counter and gives the pair of them a grin. "Good luck, lady. If you feel like barfing, just grin like this," she says, demonstrating, "I saw it on CSI, it makes it so you can't gag." And with that morsel of wisdom, the kid departs. Rogue glances down at the one sketch Jax seems to have chosen. "Well, /Ah/ like 'em all, of course. Just want to make sure some of the lines stay." She leans in a bit, tracing one of the lines with her finger so maybe the outline of a torch can be seen. "Of course Ah've eaten, this is me, here. Not one of those anorexic types." There's a deeper blush, a glance at the finger on the lupine. "He's out of town, at the moment, you're safe." She just lifts her brows at the idea of puking, a smirk as the other girl leaves. Jax watches Shelby depart with a hint of bemusement, shaking his head to flop bright-coloured hair down over his forehead once the teenager is gone. "I think this one would age the best," he says of his choice, and then, quieter as he looks at the line Rogue is tracing, "Those'll stay, for sure." He grins a little brighter at the blush. "I like my bones in one piece. I'll be easy on you, though. It's really not bad once you get used t'the feeling. Got some paperwork you'll have to get through 'fore I can take a needle to you, though." He is already sliding over a clipboard, with a fairly standard consent form. "An' I'll need your ID. You been picking out this design for a while? Looks good." "Ah'm good with pain an' things, just so long as Ah don't /see/ the needles." Rogue says with a half shrug as she starts filling out the paperwork, gloved fingers dipping into a pocket and handing over her identification. "Been fiddlin' with the idea since May. Had to have the right meanings an' composition an' all, of course." There's a twitch of a smile. "An' tellin' myself that you know what you need to be careful of, an' Ah don't need to be all panicked over it." "With me around," Jax says cheerfully, the sketchbook beneath his hands momentarily vanishing altogether, "you don't gotta see anything you don't want." He is filling out paperwork of his own, jotting a few notes down from her ID before passing it back. "Naw, you don't got nothing to worry about, here. I'm careful. 'sides, with /anyone/ in my chair I gotta wear gloves for everything I do. We'll be aright." A few more notes on his page, a longer examination of the design, and then he quotes her a price -- considerably lower than the studio's general for a design of this side. X-discount, perhaps. The price makes her eyebrows lift, but she doesn't say anything about it. She has more than enough in her pocket, and Jax will likely get all of it. "Sounds like a plan. How long will it take you to set up an' all?" Rogue reaches up, gloved fingers braiding her hair back to secure it with an elastic and make sure it won't get in the way. "An' Ah know those are all sketches, but we can talk colors, right?" "Can't set up till we've talked colours," Jackson says, the design on the page brightening with colour slowly shifting through a range of shades that its flowers tend to come in, "cuz I'll have to get the right inks. But once we're through it'll take fifteen or so for me to set everything up. Then we can get y'started. Be anything you need to make it easier? Water. Music. Dancin' boys. Dancin' girls. I like folks t'be comfortable." Rogue points when various colors are just right for what she sees in her head about the tattoo. "Was going to pop down the street and get a soda while you set up, was all. We can skip the burlesque dancers, this time." She winks at Jax, sliding her cloak on. "Set up an' Ah'll be right back?" "This time," Jackson agrees, flashing Rogue a quick grin. The image on the page settles, in the colours she had chosen. Rogue gets just a wave of fingers before he is off, disappearing to the back to get his tools in order.