2019-11-29 - Inked in Blood

"No, no. Stay. This means I'll finally get to watch you do some work, unless your client is skittish," Harper enthuses. "And if not, I've got something to read in the car." She'd hop into the chair while waiting but she knows there's some sort of procedure involving sanitizing the chair and she doesn't want to de-sanitize anything important. So she finds a stool, drags it over and perches on it, prepared to watch Geoff get ready for his appointment. "Any idea what the client wants?" She watches him move about with a warm, fascinated expression, palms settled atop her knees, heels settled on the stool's foot-bar.

Geoff rubs at his chin as he examines the books "I would have remembered booking this, and if lex had booked it she would have fought for it since it is a decent amount." He goes about waiting for the autoclave to finish sterilizing his equipment as he offers a faint shrug to Harper "Honestly I've no idea what I signed up for here, but I figure we'll get through it and if there is still time I can take you out for drinks an pay per view wrestling." Truly he is classy "If not I won't feel bad if you want to ditch, these can take a while."

"It's a mystery, then." Harper lifts her hands from atop her knees to rub them together with an impish smile. "Maybe Melinda is going to get that tramp stamp you suggested." Book Babe. Harper's words roll into warm laughter, her brown eyes sparkling. Still, she's taking stock of the autoclaving and various other moves about the workspace. "Of course we will. You underestimate how fascinated I am with seeing you work." Geoff speaks like there's going to be some proverbial tooth-pulling and she shakes her head dismissively. "Don't you sweet-talk me with wrestling and ply me with alcohol. It won't work, I tell you. When have we ever watched wrestling and ... well, hmmm." She drops her hands back to her knees and settles into a comfortable posture. "Do you go all meditative for these appointments? Am I wrecking your feng shui by sitting on the wrong side of your workspace?" Harper inquires playfully.

Geoff snorts and shakes his head "I don't have anything quite like feng shui going on here, but try to avoid wiggling your butt or I might get distracted." Heading back over to chair he once again gets out all his paints and preps the chair for the incoming customer "For the record I'll sweet talk you with whatever I want, it's my life."

Harper, of course, wiggles intentionally after that warning, arching a brow challengingly, though there is not yet a customer. "Stubborn man," she states simply, though not so much a complaint as a statement of repeatedly proven fact. That's when the blustery-dark autumn night admits a dark figure. She turns her attention toward the reception area of the shop, then looks back to Geoff, doing her best to be as inobtrusive as possible. The spicy statement about the weather tips Harper's lips into a ready smile. "You're absolutely right." Implying that there's no need to apologize for language. But after that she'll leave the conversation to Geoff unless she's addressed. This is his place of work, after all. And she's deeply hoping she'll be allowed to stay for the tattoo-ing. Pushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear, she sits comfortably on her stool in her fisherman's sweater, jeans, and rainboots, amiable yet unimposing.

Geoff is in the act of giving Harper's rear a playful swat when the the customers comes. With a laugh, and a dry tone of sarcasm "Sir I'll ask you to watch your language, this is a bible study not a tattoo shop." With a gesture to the chair he says "Have a seat man, so how long have you been planning this tattoo, and what inspired it?" Geoff angles obviously trying to get a hint at what he'd agreed to ink. Good lord don't let it be another penis.

Harper smiles her inimitable, warm smile back at the man, neither flirting nor seeming to construe his long look and resultant blush as anything out of the ordinary. It's looking good for her chances at staying for the work: her brown eyes sparkle with anticipation. She sits a little straighter to try to catch a glimpse of the sketch the man brought and shows Geoff. What she glimpses is recognizable. Her brows tip upward and she thoughtfully studies the man in the chair from the side mostly out of the way where she's perched on that stool.

Geoff studies the piece and nods his head easily enough "Yeah I can do that easily enough, I've got a good take on it planned out." flashing the customer a reassuring grin he says "Now all we need is for you to show me where you want it and I can get started." further prepping his tattoo gun he casually mentions "I've always been a sucker for religious tattoos and once dealing with death and the philosophies around it." with a glance towards the picture he adds "I've even got my own danse macabre tat."

Harper's attention flickers between the customer and Geoff, the rhythm of their interaction, the discussion of design. She wasn't lying or even exaggerating when she expressed interest in seeing the process. As for Geoff's related tattoo, Harper upnods just perceptibly. She's familiar with the skeleton gentleman and the curvy woman dancing. Harper slides one leg atop the other, twining her fingers top the upper knee. Her attention strays to the tattoo gun and other paraphernalia close to the chair and the two men. She's still enough that it would be easy to forget she's there at all, all earlier wiggling aside.

Harper has a warm place in her heart for military men and women. She doesn't gawk at the man when he removes his shirt but she does contemplate his back and the scope and spread of the image he wants inked there. He looks her direction and addresses her and Harper smiles a genuine, warm smile at him. "I haven't convinced him to put any ink on me yet," she answers capriciously. "So you could say all my ink is on your artist, there. And he's got a fair number, himself." She holds her tongue. She'd love to ask the young man all sorts of questions. Like: why that image? But this isn't her show. Not even close.

Geoff nods his head and drags his shirt up to show off a tattoo on his chest of a buxom dancing with a grim grinning skeleton, both attired in victorian finery with the skeleton dipping her back in what's obviously a dance "Love the whole memento mori genre, though I take a bit different lesson from it then it was originally intended." Pulling out a sketchbook, he jots down a quick take of the picture with his own twist on it, it hits all the right notes though the girl is a little closer to a pinup model and the flames closes towards her have an almost clawlike look to them as if hands to drag her back into their depths "Before I trace then outline this on your back, does this look good?"

Harper finds herself leaning forward where she's sitting on that stool. "Do you mind if I move closer? I will stay out of Geoff's way and out of the light." Unmarred porcelain skin. Harper curves a smile that grows a bit more as he apologizes for the words. "I think there's something to be said for a man who says what he thinks, particularly when there is a certain integrity to the words," is her tactful reply. She uncrosses her legs and lets her feet slip to the floor, settled on the very edge of the stool as she watches the dynamic between the men.

Geoff takes a thin tracing pen and begins on the outline of the young man's back, voice dropping in a faux whisper to share with him "Right? Isn't she hot? I'm lucky that she's foolish enough to love me." this cemented with a wink, pointing out that while yes talking about a woman like that in front of her might not be good manners, talking about your artists girlfriend is even worse "I get you though, bro, and thanks for your service." frowning as he works he idly comments "It's not so much deep as it's something that helped me do my time in the clink. It was easy enough to die on the inside but among other things I had to remember there were things to live for and not to give up the fight to get out." After finishing up the tracing he gestures to a a set of mirrors nearby "Go check that out and make sure you like it before we actually get started."

Geoff's comments result in Harper tipping her head to one side and gazing off in that direction. She promised not to be a distraction. Somewhere between the subtle chide and the less subtle compliments from the man with the pen in his hand lies a response that she swallows; Harper takes a slow breath, exhales, then looks back to the two men and stands up, drawing her stool a few feet closer. Close enough that the man receiving the tattoo could reach her knee if he were to stretch out his arm, but across him on the other side from Geoff, assiduously attentive to refraining from blocking light or casting shadows. Her initials indeed! Harper laughs low, a warm sound.

The librarian would say something about how fortunate the man's sister is but the abrupt assault of the lightning crack has her flinching, lifting her arms reflexively above her head as she ducks down a bit -- late -- as if she were instinctively preparing to be struck by something large and dangerous. She blinks through the after-images in her eyes toward the front room, startled silent, trying to recall if she remembered the man arriving in a black coat or a green one. She must have been mistaken. Why is she even thinking about that?

Harper looks next to Geoff to ascertain that he's not been somehow injured or struck, her heartbeat pounding in her head and throat with residual adrenalin. She tries to swallow away the thickness, to clear her ears of the absence that roar of sound leaves behind. She grips the stool-seat with her hands, her knuckles white. Something about not being a distraction is sticking with her obsessively as a result of the reality shifting moment. There's a little more of the whites of her eyes to be seen right about now than there was a minute previous.

"I get that, I really do. You either get out or this town swallows you whole, probably best I got a little forced vacay from the town." Gesturing towards Harper with his thumb he intones "We both grew up here, so we're no stranger to the shit goes on around here." with a click of his tongue he says "Man probably already mentioned this, but the name is Geoff. I know someone had to have taken your name because we got you initialed in but I'm drawing a blank."

Harper nearly knocks over her stool for how quickly she scrambles to her feet, staring. The jacket's name. What the kid says. "No!" she says simply and clearly, as if she had some sort of say in how the scene plays itself out. As if by sheer force of denial she could return the kid -- Bennie's brother! -- to the healthy, vibrant young man of a few moments prior. He's making a request and that light is fading from his eyes. Harper reaches out intending to grasp his nearer hand between both of her own. Harper hasn't seen Bennie since high school. Certainly the request is directed to Geoff.

Geoff smiles sadly when the weirdness of the evening culminates in the inevitable (and non immediately hostile). Glancing to the picture and then the lost soul he claps him on the shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze "Yeah, I'll tell her man. You make a reservation whenever you want and I'll keep a beer cold for you." releasing his shoulder he leans back "If there's a next time we'll get the inking in, yeah? It'll be on the house." He's unable to look away from the sight in front of him.

Harper has lived the nightmare of death time and time again. She regularly converses with people who she's loved who have died, real or not. But this experience? It's something new for her. As the Dream of Judd takes her hands, sinks to the floor, pitches over and is gone with another of those lightning flashes, Harper just drops to the floor with a bump, staring into the middle distance. "Was that --" She has to work to find her voice, and even then it is lacking cadence or its usual tone. "Was that real?" It takes effort for her to find Geoff with her brown-eyed gaze. "Does Bennie know?"

Geoff steps up to Harper and takes her hand, giving it a soft squeeze "Yeah...I'm pretty sure that's as real as dreams get." Giving her forehead a kiss, he says "Babe, I've got to do something real quick. I've got to sketch that tat he wanted again for Bennie if she wants it....Don't know if it'll comfort her, but it was something he liked so the least I can do is offer it." And with that he is pulling away to go sit at his station, closing his eyes as he draws back the piece before pulling out his sketchbook from the counter to jot it back down.