A tattoo parlor in Ibiza, Saturday night
May. 23rd, 2020 07:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
betterthanaplanDuke had found a moment to slip away from Lucifer and Seivarden, not wanting to have to explain what he was doing to either of them. At least, not yet.
This wasn't entirely a drunken impulse. But it wasn't not one, either.
He wandered around the city for awhile, looking for the right atmosphere. Away from the crowds, but close enough to still feel the pounding bass through his chest. Someplace small but clean, that looked like they could handle what he wanted. He found it on a little side street, not much more than an alleyway, some distance from the beach.
He walked in and froze, his heart in his throat.
"¿Qué deseas?" the woman at the counter asked. She was short and slim, with thick dark hair and stark, almost geometric blackwork tattoos running up both her arms. She didn't really look like Octavia, not when you got close, her facial features rounder and marked with faint laugh lines, though she was giving him an unimpressed quirk of the eyebrows that wouldn't have been at all out of place on Octavia's face. Duke took a moment to collect himself and nodded.
"Esta es una tienda de tatuajes. ¿Qué crees que quiero?"
The woman gave him a clear up and down look, then rolled her eyes and repeated her question, this time pointing to the ink already on his shoulder. Duke had to take another moment, a quick, bracing breath.
"Un tiburón." He held out his right arm, sketching a vaguely triangular shape on the inside just below his elbow. "Aquí. Simple, como el tuyo. Mínimo."
The woman let out a faintly amused snort and nodded. "Hombre duro, ¿eh?"
Duke smiled faintly and shook his head. "Yo no. Mi --" He paused. "Mi snogon."
"¿La mierda es un snogon?"
Duke didn't answer, just tilted his head and pointed to his arm. "¿Cuánto?"
The woman shrugged, quoting a price that made it clear she thought he was an idiot tourist. Duke didn't bother to haggle. The woman nodded him to a seat and then pulled out a sketchbook, tossing out a few simple designs for him to pick from. He picked the one that looked most like Octavia's own tattoo, all rough, strong lines. The one that would be looking back at him from his arm. Looking up at the butterflies on his shoulder. "Éste. Es perfecto."
He stretched his arm out on the arm of the chair and watched in silence as she inked the last six months into his skin.
Once he was back out on the deserted street, he pressed his fingers to his lips, then touched the skin below the bandage. "Yu gonplei nou ste odon, Tavi," he whispered. "Wherever you are."
[NFB, NFI. All Spanish via Google translate, but hopefully simple enough to not be TOO nonsensical. Because sometimes it's fun to make yourself sad!]
This wasn't entirely a drunken impulse. But it wasn't not one, either.
He wandered around the city for awhile, looking for the right atmosphere. Away from the crowds, but close enough to still feel the pounding bass through his chest. Someplace small but clean, that looked like they could handle what he wanted. He found it on a little side street, not much more than an alleyway, some distance from the beach.
He walked in and froze, his heart in his throat.
"¿Qué deseas?" the woman at the counter asked. She was short and slim, with thick dark hair and stark, almost geometric blackwork tattoos running up both her arms. She didn't really look like Octavia, not when you got close, her facial features rounder and marked with faint laugh lines, though she was giving him an unimpressed quirk of the eyebrows that wouldn't have been at all out of place on Octavia's face. Duke took a moment to collect himself and nodded.
"Esta es una tienda de tatuajes. ¿Qué crees que quiero?"
The woman gave him a clear up and down look, then rolled her eyes and repeated her question, this time pointing to the ink already on his shoulder. Duke had to take another moment, a quick, bracing breath.
"Un tiburón." He held out his right arm, sketching a vaguely triangular shape on the inside just below his elbow. "Aquí. Simple, como el tuyo. Mínimo."
The woman let out a faintly amused snort and nodded. "Hombre duro, ¿eh?"
Duke smiled faintly and shook his head. "Yo no. Mi --" He paused. "Mi snogon."
"¿La mierda es un snogon?"
Duke didn't answer, just tilted his head and pointed to his arm. "¿Cuánto?"
The woman shrugged, quoting a price that made it clear she thought he was an idiot tourist. Duke didn't bother to haggle. The woman nodded him to a seat and then pulled out a sketchbook, tossing out a few simple designs for him to pick from. He picked the one that looked most like Octavia's own tattoo, all rough, strong lines. The one that would be looking back at him from his arm. Looking up at the butterflies on his shoulder. "Éste. Es perfecto."
He stretched his arm out on the arm of the chair and watched in silence as she inked the last six months into his skin.
Once he was back out on the deserted street, he pressed his fingers to his lips, then touched the skin below the bandage. "Yu gonplei nou ste odon, Tavi," he whispered. "Wherever you are."
[NFB, NFI. All Spanish via Google translate, but hopefully simple enough to not be TOO nonsensical. Because sometimes it's fun to make yourself sad!]