multiversallogs | » welcome to my life, tattoo. we've a long time together, me and you.

Entry tags:

» welcome to my life, tattoo. we've a long time together, me and you.

Who: Cindy and Asbjørn
What: A princess trolls a bear in a tattoo shop.
Where: Howl Barrow
When: Early-afternoon on Misdi
Warnings: This is Cindy. There will be cussin'.

Call it what you want--Cindy would call it boredom-induced curiosity--but there's one well dressed woman hanging out in a Howl Barrow tattoo shop today. Indeed, she is not the type to get marked up and considering her power red pantsuit is still on and still in place, it's obvious that she isn't the customer of the moment. That honor belongs to the man lying down on his belly, getting a two-legged housecat being ridden by a man in black on his right buttcheek.

Perched on the counter in that same room, Cindy shoots a look to the artist, one that says that this customer will never get laid ever again. Oh well. It's his marks and shekels gone to waste. Cindy's just here to make jokes at his expense.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Asbjørn, for the record, has to bite back something any time he catches Cindy's eye. People might wonder why he hasn't asked this woman he barely knows to leave the shop already, but he's been in the city long enough to realise that the ladies of Baedel are an interesting lot. And who would have them any other way?

He's also not sure if Cindy would leave. Or if he'd want her to. Look, this tattoo marks an interesting moment in his life. A profound moment. A moment he will surely tell his grand-cubs about (...doubtful, but the sentiment stands). Surely someone needs to stand with him to tell the tale.

It also speaks volumes to his professional ability -his hand is ridiculously steady as he inks. Mostly finishing up small details at this point. "Try not to move," he instructs the man, whose butt-cheeks are somewhat more tense than usual.

She sure as hell wouldn't. Cindy will leave when she wants to leave and even then, when she's good and ready to. That won't be happening anytime soon because she's enjoying this scene far too much and of course, she will be honored to verify the story about the time Grandpa drew a cat on a butt.

"Don't move or that needle will end up someplace you really don't want it to be," Cindy adds with a salacious grin as she crosses her legs at the knee. "And then it'll be a tattoo not even the sun will see."

The man makes a slight noise and tenses even more. "My friend has a point," Asbjørn says, shooting her a look somewhere between a chide and a grin as he wipes away excess ink and blood. And the word 'point' may have had a certain purpose behind it. "However, I assure you, your ass is in the safest of hands in all of Baedel. Plus there's just the shading to do."

Even if he's going to do a ridiculous tattoo, he's going to do it well. His look, on the other, hand says 'this day, what is it even.'

After another five minutes or so, the deed is done. "Right," Asbjørn says rather firmly, switching things off and putting them down. "Come this way and have a look." He gets up and pulls a cloth off a large mirror (there is a crow bar kept nearby in case of emerging monsters -not that he needs it).

Whoever this strange fellow is, he seems happy enough. Bandaging, etc, begins.

He can chide her all he wants; Cindy knows she has a point even without the need for Asbjørn to attest to it. For the moment, she stays silent as Asbjørn finishes up the job and does the post-work on the tattoo. The customer's not too bad looking in the butt department. Not too much hair, no dimpling, nothing that will make Cindy want to gouge her own eyes out.

"Nice ass. Let's hope nobody gives it the spare change test today." Yeah, that moment lasted only but a few minutes. It's the longest Cindy's ever behaved herself. She should get a cookie for it because now in lieu of an actual cookie, she's pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her blazer pocket. If Asbjørn doesn't allow smoking in his shop, he better speak now or forever hold his peace.

Can butt cheeks blush? Apparently!

"Hold that thought," he tells her. Both because it's technically unhygienic and because his nose is particularly sensitive. "I could do with a break in a minute anyway."

Post-work done, money is paid and Asbjørn waves off another happy customer. He snaps off his gloves and tosses them at a bin in the corner with a loud, tired sigh. "Now that one. That one took the fucking cake."

Who knew?

Cindy pouts when he stops her from lighting up and reluctantly slips the cigarette back into the box. Damn it. "And this time, it wasn't even my fault." If she sounds proud of that, she isn't. Cindy still holds her name on that other guy at a first prize ticket.

"It'll only get worse," she continues, hopping down from the counter. "This place looks like heaven for weirdos."

"Yeah, well. I can be a bit weird myself, but at least I do it with some style." He grabs a few anti-bacterial wipes for his hands. Despite five years at this, wearing gloves still feels weird afterwards.

Once he's done, he grabs the shop keys, twirling them on one finger. "Coming along? Like I said, I need a break. There's a pub around the corner that's not bad and I don't have any more appointments. The other guy will be along in...mm, half an hour or so for his, just in case we get any visitors."

He doesn't need to ask twice. She's already walking out the door ahead of him and down the block, four inch heels clacking against the pavement. Alcohol is always welcome and now that they're going outside, she can light up and feed her bad habit.

"You're paying, by the way."

"I still have to do a few things!" he calls after. He quickly puts the cash tray in the safe and makes his way to the door, flipping over the sign (http://www.polyvore.com/tumblr/thing?id=41403344) and locking the door behind him.

"I figured as much. And it's over there," he says, pointing to the place: it's more of a food-place by day, bar by night, but sells alcohol at all times. They seem fond of the flower baskets and have a reasonably sized outdoor seating area. Inside there seems to be a fair bit of local artwork gracing the walls. "So, what'll it be?"

While he goes and does those things, she'll camp outside and take her nicotine break, leaning on the side of the pub. Just as soon as Cindy spies him coming down the block, she grabs a table for them and peruses the menu even though she knows exactly what she wants as a starter.

"Bloody Mary." She'll get all her daily vegetables in one shot. Can't get any healthier.

"Coming up," he says, strolling by and up to the bar. He's back fairly quickly with Cindy's drink and a beer for himself -it seems they've missed the lunch time rush.

"Not that I can complain about cat-butt," he says, as he sits back down, going back a bit in conversation. "Money's money and I want out of the Inn. It feels like I'm living in a doll's house." Higher ceilings and more comfortable beds, please.

"I've been in shitholes," Cindy mutters as she tips the glass to her lips. Fuck a straw. It just slows down the alcohol to throat trip. "The inn was one of them."

Normally, it wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't need a place to stash her guns, her shoes, her knives, and whatever weaponry she managed to get her pretty little hands on. But with those requirments and the Militia sniffing around the place as they please? Hell no. Cindy was out of that inn so fast nobody even saw her shadow.

"Do enough cat-butts and you'd get there," she smiles after a long sip. "Or maybe cat-dicks. Cat-pussies. Whatever floats people's boats here."

"Mm, I've slept in worse places. I'm just too used to living by myself," he says, taking a drink and idly giving the menu a glance over.

If the Militia had done another raid while he was staying there, he would probably be long gone by now. He likes to avoid confrontation for a variety of reasons, although it takes a lot to really tip him over the edge.

"I do not want to know what floats anyone's boat, and I'm quickly learning not to ask. Still, it's kind of like in nature," he says, with a mild smile. "At least this way I'm helping others to easily identify who the hell to keep away from."

"What about what tickles their pickle?" She's just terrible and evil if he hasn't noticed yet. That grin on her face says as much. "You never know. Maybe I was wrong thinking Catass would never get any ass ever again. Some girl with bad taste might drop her panties over it. Won't be me, I know that much."

Cindy being Cindy snatches the menu from his grasps and skims the salad selections for a quick second before sliding it back across the table, looking as innocent as she pleases.

"Nope. Not even what melts their butter -hey." He palms the menu back from the table. It's not a proper scold, more of a token effort. The foundation of their banter has clearly been set in place.

"You're the one who said his was nice." ...he says, as though he's seen better. "For a while I half expected him to let on that he knew you."

"Oh no. This time, it was all on him. I had nothing to do with this one."

That doesn't mean she might not have anything to do with the next ass that comes his way. Or the next pair of breasts. Cindy's an equal opportunity troll. The waiter, who looks far too young to be out of his house without his mommy, strolls up and asks for their order. Cindy keeps it ladylike and orders a simple green salad and another Bloody Mary. Super healthy, yo.

"What's the story behind yours?"

"My ass or my tattoos?" He can troll too, he'll have you know (although maybe not quite as skilled, Padawan learner, etc). He orders a panini for himself when the waiter comes around, still having over half of his drink left.

"There are too many to keep track of now," he says, glancing over his arms. "Some of it's just filler work. And the others..." Well, some of those have a particular meaning, and the way he looks at them says as much.

"I lived in the middle of fucking nowhere as a kid, so I was encouraged to read and use my imagination. I liked a lot of the old Norwegian fairy tales, Norse and Sámi mythology my grandmother used to tell me. That sort of thing. It stuck with me. Others are just bits and pieces I picked up over the years and liked the look of."

"If I wanted to know about your ass, I would just say let's go and fuck and check it out myself." All Padawan learners have to start somewhere. It's a good start.

Cindy knows a lot about living in the middle of nowhere during her childhood. That's exactly what she did long ago in the Homelands version of Europe. She grins quietly when she wonders what the Norse Fables would say if they saw Asbjørn's permanent shrine in their honor. A few of them would probably love it far too much for their own good.

"Only child, eh?" she queries as she rearranges her silverware just to have something to do with her hands. Cindy knows that this line of questioning will turn back to her sooner or later, but she has a cover story already prepped for that.

He doesn't say anything to the first comment, just continues to look a little bemused. Things aren't that easy for him (not that he can really explain that) and it's better to seem as though he's acting coy rather than attract questions.

"Yep. Mom owns a small farm, and that's where I grew up before I made a break for the big city. Of Oslo." He is aware of how ridiculous that last part sounds, yes. "How about you?"

"Two sisters. Lived with my dad in the City. Moved to LA after a while to strike on my own, ended up here."

Only a few parts of that is the actual truth, enough to make the rest sound genuine. Guess which parts.

"Yeah, well. Seems to be the story for most people even if, I don't know. A colony on Mars was their former neighbourhood." The more things change, the more they stay the same, etc, etc.

"I moved around a bit, though. Three out of five of the Nordic countries, a few long vacations here and there, that sort of thing. Never anything like this." Some people seem used to it even, a thought which makes him just the tiniest bit unsettled.

Edited 2011-09-02 19:21 (UTC)

"I don't think anybody has done anything like this. At least the normal folks." Which she doesn't qualify for in any way. Hello international and interdimensional traveling spy.

"Lucky you. I've been in California most of my life." Liar. "Traveled a bit to the islands and some shit states, but that's as much as I could do on a retail budget. I'm not sure if I should be stoked that this vacation came free." It's disturbing how natural lying is for Cindy, even when she means well. The fact that she's nibbling on a breadstick as she does it makes it look like she's completely bored with her cover life and maybe she is. Keeping secrets is draining sometimes, especially in a place where you don't actually have to because on the Baedal food chain, being a storybook princess is the least interesting thing around here.

"Isn't it cold as a witch's tit up there?"

"I don't think anyone should be seriously stoked about being brought here, unless life was so very shitty for them back home." Which is kind of a sad thought, really. "But you may as well enjoy yourself as much as you can while you're here."

You know. In between all the monster attacks, which he is only really just beginning to get details of from his colleagues.

The turn of phrase makes him pause for a moment, given his own supernatural nature and the company he keeps. "Uh, it gets cold in winter. Warm summers, which no one outside the country believes. Been in colder. I had the pleasure of living in Svalbard for a few years. Got family there."

"Enjoy it before something eats you, sure. Then they'll enjoy you." Speaking of eating, their food arrives and the cook politely put Cindy's dressing on the side. Too bad she's going to ruin their hard work and turn her meal into dressing with a side of salad.

Svalbard? Cindy might have been there. She can't remember. Those places all just blur together after a while. Also, she knows exactly how cold a witch's tit is. Her interactions with Frau Totenkinder have been too interesting sometimes. Also disgusting. "Still live there?"

"I'll make sure I'm tough to swallow," he says, before taking a bite out of his panini. Someone might get chewed on but it won't be him.

"No, I moved up to Tromsø about...oh. Five months ago?" That long. He seems a little surprised at the answer himself. "I lived in Stockholm before, and Göteborg before there." The last one getting said just a beat too quickly in succession.

There's something about the way Asbjørn answer that piques Cindy's interest... okay, her completely nosy side, but it's all the same to her. She could ask about it or she could ask about it. There are no other options.

"What's with all the moving?"

"Mostly professional; partly a restless spirit. I moved between cities to learn the techniques I wanted to from the people who had the skills. Bit of a long commute. And the last one..." He bites into a bit of cucumber from his tiny portion of side-salad, thoughtfully. "The last one I broke up with my girlfriend and decided to get as far away from the drama as possible."

Whenever possible, Asbjørn doesn't lie. Lying means someone can find out what you're trying to keep hidden, have something to hold against you, and he's already got a huge thing to keep. No, the trick for him is to tell as much as he's comfortable with, blind-siding people with information.

"If it's, uh, all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it," he says, looking a little miserable and little harder around the eyes at the same time. That part, however, is completely sincere.

Cindy shrugs, an act of nonchalance that's partly her throwing up her own emotional hurt from the past. She knows how a breakup can feel and how the urge to get as far as physically possibly can help the emotional urge. But that's something Cindy will never admit to. Ever.

With a nod, she spears a cherry tomato on her fork and pauses to speak before biting it in half. "Fine with me. I don't poke where I'm not welcome." Which is a lie most of the time, but right now, it's the truth.

He finds that slightly difficult to believe but he lets it slide, grateful for this instance of conversational mercy. "Thanks." Whatever tenseness there was about him vanishes almost immediately, and he's back to being a laid-back bear once more.

"Guess it's just one of those things as well. I can never really see myself settling down for very long. Unless it's forced on me," he says, side-eyeing their general surroundings.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

» welcome to my life, tattoo. we've a long time together, me and you.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject