Her card was real. I put it down on the counter, and looked up at the grinning owner.
"Well, Happy Birthday to you, Anya. Big day for you yesterday."
She nodded, and shrugged. "Thanks, old man." A little bashful, but that soon resolved into her usual air of arrogance.
And goddammit, I was thirty two. Not old man material just yet.
I grinned, and looked at the punk who had turned eighteen the day before; she wore her hair cut short since its long, brunette origins, now shaved shorter on the sides to form a neon blue mohawk that almost matched her ice-blue eyes, and kept the remainder of her hair dyed black that she kept ungelled and brushed back, with light grey being the dominant color of her makeup. Despite the change in her hair, she was still recognizable with just light makeup and a slightly thinner jawline.
The new punk's smile widened further I handed back her ID, and walked over to my rack of folders; sketches, ideas and half-formed tattoos put to paper and stored. Grabbing the one marked 'Standby', I pulled it out and flipped it open, idly flicking pages as I walked back to Anya.
"I do remember talking to you a few months ago. Still brunette that time. This'll teach me to toss ideas with any cute girl that walks in." I teased, arching an eyebrow. "Offering to tattoo to a minor - just the offer - is already a misdemeanor, darl. Given where we planned on putting it, that might have been a felony, too."
Pointing at her with a comic parody of a stern look, I waggled my finger at the red cheeked punk. Well, I hope it was a stern look: my grin was best described as 'shit eating' rather than 'shit spewing'. "Naughty girl."
She shrugged and raised a fist, knuckles pointed towards me. Her hand reached up to mime winding up a jack-in-the-box, which slowly extended her middle finger.
I laughed and pulled the sheet of paper from the folder, tossing it to her; the same sketch we had come up with after a few idle hours discussing her first tattoo; a simple pair of wings rendered in a tribal pattern, to stretch across her back from shoulder to shoulder. "No worries, darl. Lets get you started, 'kay?"
Anya let out a small giggle and stepped forward. "Okay."
Reaching out, I clapped a hand down on her shoulder, and looked her straight in the eyes. "You can still back out, if you want. No sweat, you can even keep the sketch. So tell me: still wanna do this?"
She stuck her jaw out and set it, growling at me through a grin. "Fuck you, old man."
I matched her expression. "Good girl."
-:--:-- : --:--:-
We had stepped into the actual tattoo room after she had finalized the design; a decently sized, well ventilated and most importantly sterile room. The walls were covered in photos of previous works and sketches of potential tattoos where it wasn't mirrored for inspection of present work or taken up by the storage or sterilization of my gear. I took a clean white towel from a cupboard, ripped off the packaging and passed it to her.
"Free towel, it's yours. Put it on the seat and lay on top of it, get comfy because a tat like this might take a couple hours." I said.
Anya paused for a full five seconds. Maybe she hadn't processed what was about to happen? I chuckled. Teens.
Eventually she spoke again: "Uhm... the fuck you on about?"
"Use towel. Wrap yourself." I caveman'd, pointing at the white bundle in her hands. "Unless you want to show off."
Turning around I busied myself with preparing the basics; rubber gloves, ink, fresh needles and a little bit of body paint to sketch out the final draft on her skin.
Finished, I turned around and found that she still hadn't moved, though now I could hear a faint click click click just behind that vacant expression of hers. "What?" She asked.
Typical. Ink-wise, she really was a virgin, wasn't she?
"You'll need to take your top off, darl." I instructed, pointing at my sketch of her future tattoo, which had been placed on a woman's bare back.
