2019-06-23 - Douchebags and Stereotypes

It's a tattoo shop in a small town. Logically, the sheer lack of business would warrant a 'Closed' sign during this particular time frame, but let's face it -- logic skipped over Gray Harbor, and Pens and Needles wasn't exempt. If nothing else, at least they only bothered staffing one artist? That artist would be Lex, currently the only occupant of the relatively small shop. The front desk, obviously, and then a few partitioned areas.

Lex is probably supposed to be in one of those partitioned areas. Supposed to be. Instead, the silver-haired youth has allocated herself one of the rolling stools with a back rest. She straddles it in the most ladylike of fashions, crossed arms resting on the top of the chair's back support, and her chin atop said arms. She's donned a stunning display of... black. Black jeans, a black tank-top, and black stomper boots. It's with the toe of one of those stomper boots that she's pushing idly at the ground, sending that stool and herself spinning lazily.

Bored, much?

Ding-a-ling go the bells at the door. Jay wanders in. She's all in black. Him? He's got a pair of dark burgundy pants on, white sneakers, and a grey-blue shirt with a skinny black tie and a slim red jacket. His sunglasses get raised as he watches Lex spin. "Hey." It's more like 'heeeey' but without getting dragged out. You know, the tone.

Oh, yes. The Tone. Lex manages to as least slow her current spin when she hears the door's tell-tale ding, and has actually stopped enough to be more-or-less eye to eye with the new arrival. Well, in-so-much that she's facing him. She straightens a bit, without actually moving her arms, and offers the stranger a one-sided smirk. "Hey. You lookin' to get something done, or just lookin' around?"

"Actually, I need a touch up," Jay says idly, letting the door close behind him as he takes a comically long step inside. He glances around, looking at the art on the walls, photographs, designs, etc. "Which ones are yours?"

"The ones in my booth," she replies simply, and gestures with a jerk of her chin toward one of the partitioned areas. "This shit..." Glancing toward the various artwork and posters on the walls. "Who the fuck knows. They were up when I got here. What's this touch up?"

Jay doesn't answer immediately. He wanders over towards the booth. "Sorry," he says, as he reaches it, starting to look around. "I just wanna make sure I'm not letting some rando newbie on my ink." It doesn't sound like judgment: he just doesn't know her. No reason to think she's skilled. But he turns around and smiles at her. "I think I'm in good hands. You got time right now?"

If he makes it into said booth, he'd likely see evidence of just that -- good hands. Six or so years of experience kind of hands, of everything from cursive tramp stamps to full-color sleeves. Lex knows what she's doing, if nothing else. "Got nothin' but time right now, dollface. You still ain't told me what you want done."

"You always this impatient?" Jay smiles at her. He hops up on the bench where most people lie down for back tattoos and the like, and takes his jacket off, tossing it on a chair; then he loosens his tie, removes it; then he starts to unbutton his shirt. He doesn't have lower arm sleeves, but at around halfway down his biceps, the tattoo starts.

It's a dragon. It is black, shaded in grays. It runs from his biceps up onto his shoulders, down his chest, coiling over his back. It's a fucking work of art, and if Lex knows anything about Asian tattoo art, she'll know two things, immediately. One: this wasn't done with a machine; this was painstakingly hammered into his skin. That shit hurts like a mother fucker, especially in places like his ribs, inner bicep, pelvis, spine. Two: anybody sporting this ink is either Triad, was Triad, or is going to be murdered by the Triad if they ever see it on him.

Well, that gets her attention. Lex isn't actually dismounting the stool, but she is sitting up more-or-less straight as light green eyes flicker over the design. She says nothing of the implications, whether she knows them or not... but considering she's ignored that first baiting question, 'knows them' seems more likely. "Nice," she finally offers, with none of her characteristic sarcasm. The compliment, lo and behold, seems to be genuine. "What're you wanting done?"

Jay slides off the bench and walks over to her. He's in good shape. Like, abs in all the right places good shape. He's not a big guy or anything, but he's tall for an Asian and he's got good posture. He stops in front of her. "It's fading. I just need a touch up." It's true. Upon closer inspection she'll note there are some places that are very faded. This tattoo's also been touched up before. How long has he HAD it? He can't be more than mid-to-late twenties. Did he get it when he was a kid?

Lex may've spent more time evaluating said abs, if she weren't quite so intrigued by the inkwork. "Full disclosure... I don't do that tapping shit. I can darken the lines, but I'm a gun kinda girl. If you're looking for something more... authentic, you may need to look in the city."

Jay shakes his head. "I wish. But I can't." He doesn't explain why. He just sounds very sure that he cannot, under any circumstances, do that. "Gun's fine. Just don't go outside the lines, is all I ask." He smiles at her. "You up for it, dollface?"

"Oh, yeah, I was /real/ good at tracing in second grade, and learned how to stay inside the lines by /fourth/." Les drawls her response to his last words. She's giving him a dry look now, seemingly content with her study of the artwork. Now it's back to... well, being Lex. "You want the whole thing lined, or somewhere specific?"

Jay barks a laugh. "Oh, good. My tattoo depends on skills you learned in infancy." He winks at her. "Whole thing, but we can take our time. No rush. A few sessions so your hand doesn't cramp and my skin doesn't fall off." Now that he's done showing her the work, he's back to being Jay. Which means checking her out. He's not subtle. But then, it doesn't seem like he's subtle about much.

Whether she's mirroring his lack of subtlety, or simply lacks it as well, Lex is returning that study without shame. Mutual unprofessionalism, right? "Just the outline, or you want the shading touched up, too? You could probably get away with just outlining for a few years, but eventually..." She lets it trail off there, trusting him to finish the thought for himself. She's rolling forward on her stool then, still unbothered enough to stand, as she starts pulling open various drawers and cabinets that line a portion of the booth.

He lets her roll by, turning his head to slide his eyes down her back and to her ass. She's gonna sit that way, he's gonna get an eyeful. He's not complaining. He follows her after a second. "Whole she-bang, baby," he tells her with a smile. "No short-cuts here." Other than the aforementioned lack of tapping technique, but that seems to be another matter.

If Lex knows what she's putting on proverbial display, she... doesn't seem to care. Or maybe it's intentional. Impossible to say, at this point. Whatever the case, she does appear to be gathering the appropriate inks and needles to fulfill his request. Then, before he can become /too/ confident that she wasn't just some passerby who wandered in here, "You know where you wanna start, or should I show you how good I am at eeny meeny miny mo?" First grade skill, for the record.

Jay grins at her. "I like you. You're got the body and the wit. That's rare." He shakes his finger at her and then he taps his shoulders and upper biceps. "Let's work like in the order it was made. I'll guide you by sectors."

"Honey, I got a helluva lot more than body and wit," Lex counters, punctuating the statement with a soft but audible snort. "Though thanks. I think. You got the body, but jury's out on wit..." Because what would be fun about a balanced compliment? "Bad-ass tat, though. That counts for something. You want me to run down costs before we get this started, or we going in cold?"

"I'm good on costs. Don't worry about it," Jay says with a laugh. "But hey. Maybe I'll find out what else you got sides body and wit later, huh?" He tilts his chin up and grins at her.

"You think?" Lex returns that grin with a smirk, which seems to be the more default expression for the woman. There's a glint of amusement in her eyes, if nothing else. "Right now you gonna lay on that pretty stomach of yours and hold the fuck still. When'd you get this touched up last?"

"'Bout five years ago." Too long, for a work like this one. He winks at her and then swings his legs out behind him and lies down in a position that makes it easy for her to get the right spots.

The rolling stool makes it easy to do just that, and at least for the time being, it's only Lex's hands that he'd feel on his back. Sliding along the inked skin, spreading the skin here and there to test elasticity or pigment. Or maybe just annoy him. Who knows, with this one? "I can get this looking as close to what I'm thinkin' you had originally... but as I'm sure you remember, it ain't quick, and things that ain't quick ain't cheap. That said, if you want this to stay lookin' like what it is and not some idiot tourist whim, you'll stick with the slow and expensive. We on the same page?"

Jay smiles when she touches him, and he even opens one eye to look back up at her and then wink. "It's fine. Don't worry about the money. Do you want me to pay you up front?"

"Fifty upfront is usually my standard, but with this, I'm not real worried about it. You said yourself, we're gonna need to be seein' each other more than once to get through all of this. I do need you sober to sign the forms and shit today, but after that, just make sure you can hold the fuck still." If it weren't so /unlikely/ of the woman, one could almost think she was condoning -- suggesting? -- drug use. Hey, at least she's not asking to share? "You wanna flip through my Look Book before makin' this official, or you ready to sign?"

Jay shakes his head. "Naw. I'm good." He leans on his side and holds a hand out, making the universal signal for 'gimme'. He looks chill enough, and the suggestion that he can be drunk or whatever during the next sessions makes him smirk at her.

"Mmm. Trusting. I typically take that as 'stupid', but fortunate for you, I actually know my shit." And she's humble about it, too. A few papers are pulled out of a black binder, and she's jotting down a brief description of what they've discussed. All the nice legal points. And then there's a helpful 'X' drawn next to the line for 'Customer Signature'. "I'm Lex, by the way. Geoff's got the tooth next to me, and he's hella good, but unless you want things to start lookin' a little schizophrenic, I'd stick to one artist per touch up." He's offered those papers now, and the pen to go with them.

Jay smiles at her. It's also not the kind of art you want to screw with as an artist, anyway, so that might contribute to his cavalier decision making. He signs on the X, and then smiles at her. "Yeah. I think I'm good with just you." He gives her another once over and then smiles, resting his head.

"What do you go by?" Lex questions, giving his signature a once-over without much effort at sorting out the actual name. She's signing her own portion of the form with the quickness of familiarity, ticking off the necessary boxes and jotting down the date. "I can start with whatever 'sectors' you want, but since you let this fade to shit... I think we're better off plannin' on blocks of time than entire areas. Take it as it goes." The papers are tucked away, legalities and contracts done with, before she's turning on her stool to begin arranging the still-sterile equipment into various positions. "I can guess, but that's generally a bad idea when skin and ink's involved, so why don't you tell me /just/ where you want me to start?"

"Just Jay." He lifts his hands and points at his shoulders and biceps, then gestures to the top of his back. "Let's start biceps and shoulders, work our way back, hit the chest and pelvis towards the end. So just up top for today."

"Sounds good, Just Jay," she acknowledges, before the gloves go on and the actual process begins. Sterile inks laid out, needles chosen, and then the chill of an antiseptic swab across the better part of his shoulder. Down to business? Mostly. "Should I plan on someone tryin' to slice my head off for touchin' this, or you got the juju self-aimed?"

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," he says. "Don't worry about it. No one's going to care who touched it if they see it." Just whose skin its on.

"Well, that's refreshing," Lex drawls her response to his assurance. "Most guys are pretty hung up on that 'who touched it' shit..." And then there's the snap of a fresh pair of gloves, and the warning buzz of the tattoo gun being flipped on. "I'm gonna start now. If you move, whatever happens is totally on you."

Jay smiles a little bit and closes his eyes. "Sure." And then he takes a deep breath.

He's a model client, to be honest. If he winces, it's almost imperceptible. Then again, what might someone like Lex expect from a guy who, easily ten or more years ago, went through tapping? He doesn't bother her while she works. He just lays there, motionless, letting her do her job until she's done.

As obnoxious as Lex may insist on being during day-to-day life, it seems she takes this whole 'job' thing seriously. Particularly when that 'job' involves a tattoo that far exceeds the predictable lotus flowers and Buddas. Almost three hours have passed before she's finally sliding that stool back, having worked through the full session, save the occasional break-for-sanity.

"Shoulder's done. You should give it at least a few days before we start again, 'less you want that whole... skin falling off thing."

"I think I'm good with my skin where it is," Jay says, opening his eyes just like he did whenever she took a break. He swings his legs off the table and rises up easily, shifting his shoulder a bit. "Thanks." He glances up at her and then smiles. "You a local or an import?"

"Both. I was born here, got stuck for sixteen years, then shipped to Seattle. Been back for a month or so, an' still trying to figure out why. You?" Her response is a bit distracted as she puts away the various bits and pieces that were used to torture him for the last few hours.

Maybe he doesn't see it as torture. Maybe he liked it.

"Import through and through. I was bumming around and a friend is living here, so I crashed with her." He shrugs. "You into all the weird shit?" He lifts his chin up, eyeing her.

"I wouldn't say I'm 'into it' so much as it's... 'into me'," Lex counters, her tone dry. "Who you stayin' with?" Equipment either put away or set aside to be cleaned once she's gone back to being bored, she actually meets his gaze.

Meanwhile, Jay has slipped off the table and is stretching. It's not for show. He was just lying there for three hours while she stabbed him a bajillion times, he needs to stretch. (Okay, maybe it's a little bit for show.) "British chick named Baylee? Over at the trailer park." He swings his hips side to side and his spine goes krr-pop-crack. He settles his own eyes on Lex's. "You know her?"

Lex says, "Nah. She either moved in while I was somewhere less insane, or we just... ran in different crowds." Considering Lex's appearance alone, odds are she wasn't in a crowd that involved anyone remotely... normal? Then again, we're making some wild assumptions about Bailey. "You stickin' around, or just visiting for the nightmares?""

"I've never known Baylee to be normal, so maybe just happenstance, huh?" Jay grins a bit. He grabs his shirt and slides it on, being careful with the spot where she worked on. "So what d'you do for fun around here, Lex?" He hops back on the table, feet hanging, so he can button up his shirt.

"Sex, drugs, and alcohol. You know, the norm." She seems to have sobered somewhat after three hours of careful focus. After all, that's not the type of tattoo you can half-ass. ... not that she'd half-ass anyone's tattoo. That'd just be unprofessional. "Annoying my roommate's my latest hobby, but I think he's becoming immune. Gotta up my game."

"I think I'm coagulating," Jay says, glancing at his shoulder. "You gotta stick around here or do you wanna see which of those three we can get around to first?" If there was shame in Jay at some point in his life, he took it into the back alley of some dive bar and shanked it.

Was that a pick-up line? One way or another, it earns an audible snort from the silver-haired woman. "Stuck here for another few hours, unfortunately. Fuckin' job and all that." She gives him another one-over, shirt or no shirt, before light green eyes drift back to his face. "Wanna tell me somethin' about yourself other than bein' a shady, possibly illegal import that's stayin' with a British chick?

It might be someone's pick-up line. Jay doesn't seem the type to do pick-up lines. "Illegal?" Jay laughs, loud. "Babe, I was born in San Francisco." He buttons the rest of his shirt back on and then rolls his sleeves up. "What d'you wanna know?" He doesn't comment on shady. Shady is fair, apparently.

"Hey, I ain't talking about green cards," she counters, smirking outright at the man. "You do know that you dress like a douche, right? I was kinda hoping that was intentional." You know. Ironic. "Or you borrowing your girlfriend's clothes?"

"Dress like I wanna dress. I mean, is it my fault people who dress like this are douches, or is it their fault for being douches? You wanna know what most people think about chicks with bodies covered in tattoos?" Jay grins. "It ain't nothin' nice. But it doesn't mean it's who you are, does it?"

Nice response. Or so her actual grin would suggest. The expression betrays the impression of dimples... which is likely the reason she avoids it. "You got me there, as far as douches go. But the chicks with bodies covered in tattoos? I fit most of those stereotypes, so try another angle."

"Do you?" Jay tilts his head and smiles at her. It's an easy smile; it sort of just rests on his face for a moment, before he grabs his tie and slips it over his head, adjusting it with practiced ease. "Can say it about anyone. Insert some rant about labels not being who we are and modern society stereotyping and filing everyone based on stringent categories, whatever." He makes a dismissive gesture with both hands, not at her, but just in general. "Be who you are. What stereotypes do you think you meet about the chick covered in tattoos?"

"Honey, if you don't know the stereotypes, then don't be talkin' about them." She doesn't sound annoyed, but she doesn't sound particularly impressed, either. "To quote... you, I am what I am. I'll let you in on somethin', though... I don't fuck on the job. And as of right now, you're a job." For at least a few more 'sessions'. "But I appreciate the sleaze."

Jay shrugs. "I know the stereotypes, just wondering which you think you fit." He doesn't seem put off by her revelation, though. "All right!" He eyes her a little regarding the sleaze comment, but he lets it go; at least, for now. "I need a smoke. You want the company while you're not busy or should I fuck off?" It's like there's no filler with this guy; no bullshit. All straight to the point.

"If you wanna stick around, I ain't gonna stop you," she responds, just as frankly. "If you're askin' if you can smoke it here... probably not, but I do it anyway." When Geoff's not there. Then comes another one-sided smirk, and a tattooed shoulder is raised in a bit of a shrug. "To be honest with you, I probably ain't the best company right now. Been gettin' a few... reminders of why this place is fucked up. If you stick around for long, I'm sure you'll find out what I mean."

"I'm sure I will, yeah," Jay says. "You wanna talk about it?" He grabs his jacket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes, looking around exaggeratedly and then tapping a few half-way out the pack and offering it in her direction. He seems genuine with his offer to listen.

"Mmm. Raincheck?" Lex offers in return, though the words don't stop her from reaching to take one of those cigarettes. Hey, he offered. Right? "Gotta sort it out myself before I can bitch about it to other people. Let's set up a time for your next sector, and we can see how it's going then."

"Works for me." Jay slides his jacket on and pops a cigarette between his lips. "How about Monday? Should give me time to heal."

"Sounds good. I think I got someone coming in the morning, but call it noon and I'll make sure the book is clear." She's sliding back on her still-present stool, giving him room to maneuver on the torture table.

He's up, he's dressed, he's comfortable as he can be with a bajillion needles recently stuck into his shoulder. He slides his sunglasses on and smiles. "I'll see you Monday, then, Lex." He gives her a little salute, and then heads for the door, lighting the cigarette on his way.