Daryl entered the tattoo parlor, and was surprised by how much it had changed since his last visit a couple of years back.
He had been wanting a new tattoo for a long time now, but had needed to make sure he had enough money saved up. Tattoo artists always asked for their money upfront, and you couldn't make them budge, nor should you. With the last few jobs he had worked, he had finally acquired a sum he deemed sufficient for a new tat, and he hoped he hadn't miscalculated the cost.
A tall African American woman, with long dread locks was near the entrance and gestured for him to come to the counter.
"Hello."
"'Lo. I want a tattoo, on my back," Daryl said, thinking that this woman had not been on staff the last time he was there.
She gave out a scary vibe, not as in shit your pants right away, but more like a no nonsense person who would not take too kindly to your messing around with her. He noticed that she was taking care of a toddler, a little girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Have you thought about the designs?" She asked.
He didn't speak, just handed over the design he had worked on. He was a decent enough drawer, and he took pride in providing models he had worked on. Sure, they would get changed here and there with the artist, but the canvas was his. It seemed fitting as he would be the one sporting it.
"Good lines," the woman said. "It's a great sketch. Is it up to scale?"
He nodded.
"Okay. Just give me a second. Cherokee?" She called out.
There was some noise which the woman assumed was an answer.
"We need a consult for a back tattoo, can I send the customer your way?"
More noise followed, and Daryl wondered for a second if his possible artist was mute. When he had gotten his previous inks done, the guy had never been able to stop talking, almost drove him mad.
"What happened to Dale?" He asked, before she could point him in the direction of the tattoo artist.
"Retired. Eight months ago? Cherokee used to be his apprentice, and I was working for him freelance. When he decided it was time to retire, we brought back the business and took over his clientele with his blessing."
That was when he saw her. Coming from one of the back rooms, a woman made her way to the counter. She had grey hair, and blue eyes so clear they were hypnotizing. She carried herself in a confident manner even though she didn't exhibit the same self-assurance as the woman from the counter.
"Michonne?" She asked when she got to the counter.
She was smiling at him and he may have forgotten why he was there for a second, but the moment her eyes dropped on his design, he was back. The counter lady, Michonne, started explaining to Cherokee what he had asked for and the woman was nodding along, looking at his design, and at him.
"Come with me please," She told him when Michonne was done explaining.
He nodded, and she grabbed his design, before getting on the other side of the counter and leading the way to a private room. He would have been lying if he said he never checked out her ass, and what a fine ass it was. He had been ready for the pain, but he was starting to believe it wouldn't be so bad.
She pulled out two chairs in front of a desk, and she sat down, inviting him to do the same. She turned to face him, leaving his designs on the desk and said:
"First, let me introduce myself. My name is Carol. Here is my tattoo artist license," she said, handing him a card.
He had seen coming in the license for the parlor as a whole, but he drank in her card, for the info it contained. Last name was Peletier. He wondered if she was married. It didn't state her age, but he guessed she was close to his. He noticed her license was about a year old, though he had no idea what it meant or why he had noticed it. He gave her back her license, and he wondered if she had felt the thrill when their fingers brushed.
Truth be told, he didn't really care about all of this. He was here for a tattoo, not shopping for a tattoo artist to hire himself. He felt her eyes on him, and she laughed:
"You don't care about my credentials do you? That's okay. I have to do it for legal purposes. Here is the portfolio so that you can have an idea of the type of work I do. Michonne told me you wanted a tattoo on your back, and I have your designs here. Can you tell me where you want it exactly?"
He gestured at his right shoulder and the space below. Words had never been his strong suit, but right now, there were just MIA.
"Can you take off your shirt for a minute?"
He hesitated, thinking of his scars, but he had no real choice. He took off his shirt, and she looked at the skin. Her face showed no signs of pity when she saw the scars, and she only talked about placing the two devils there and there to avoid having to deal with the marred skin. He was thankful for the way she conducted that part of their business, and hastily put his shirt back on.
"I really like the designs you provided. Michonne told me they were up to scale, and it will be a medium tattoo so I think it will require a session of 6 hours to get it done. It may take us a shorter amount of time, given that it's black and grey, but I'd rather we booked a longer appointment rather than feel rushed."
He nodded again.
"We have a couple of questions to deal with. First, the rate."
She told him a sum for the tattoo, and he agreed. Even if the tattoo didn't require the complete session to be done, it was still a good price, slightly below what he had anticipated, so there was that.
"You will have to pay it upfront."
As he nodded, she smiled, and he wanted to kiss her on the corner of her mouth. Where the fuck was this coming from?
She got up and got his designs, saying something about being a minute. She came and he saw that she had made a copy of his work.
"I really like the design you're providing, it's right up my alley, which is why Michonne yelled for me," She said. "I made a copy, because I wanted to offer, if you're okay, some slight alterations? If you agree, keep in mind that you still get to say no if what I propose is not what you want. Your body, your rules, you know?"
He nodded again.
She grabbed a pencil, and came to sit very close to him. She was all around him, everywhere, and his head was spinning. She worked on the copy of his design, adding elements here and there, and equalizing certain patterns so that the symmetry would be perfect.
"Here," she said, drawing his attention to the revised version of his sketches. "As you can see, I did very little, just tinkered with it a bit, and added some details on the wings, especially since the subjects are demons. What do you think? Be brutal, I can take it."
He took his eyes off her, and took a good look at her revised version of his design, and he liked it. She had put very little shadows too, and the result was everything he wanted. It looked really great.
"Sign me up," he said, putting the sheet back on the desk.
She smiled again, and he found himself smiling back, though not as brightly. Looking at her was like looking at the sun. She was so beautiful, it hurt, but he couldn't help himself.
He looked at her again, and searched for words to express the thought that had crossed his mind.
"For a tattoo artist, you're pretty tattoo-free yourself," he said finally and she laughed.
"Believe me, I have them. They're just hidden. I can't say that all the skin you're not seeing is covered in tattoos, but I've got my fair share of them."
She took off her watch, and he saw a tattoo there.
"That's one of the smallest pieces I have, an ivy bracelet," she said. "Michonne did it for me. Do you want to discuss the portfolio? I can show you which designs are mine?"
She went for the book but he grabbed her wrist gently and looked at the ivy and the way it enhanced her slim wrist. He didn't know her at all, but he had a feeling that it was not just ivy, that there was a meaning behind it, and he craved to know it.
He let go, and looked down, chastising himself for being too hands on.
She smiled again, and he found his pants to be a little tight. Thinking of Merle's ugly ass, he managed to get himself back in control. His tattoo artist certainly was making an effect. She put the book between them, and showed him a couple of tattoos, pointing out which were hers, and which weren't. He liked her style, it was the kind of tattoo he usually went for. She told him about the difficulties of a couple of tattoos but kept things very straight-forward.
He closed the book, and said:
"As I said, sign me up."
"More questions. I can see on your arms that this is not your first ink. What's your pain threshold?"
"I'm good. Fourth hour is when I start to breathe in deep."
"Can't blame you, it's the same for me," she said. "Ok, so if we go through with this, we are booking a six hours session. What I propose but we'll discuss it again if you want, is that we try to make a five minute break every hour. I know it's not much, but if we wait too long between the on and off time, the adrenaline will rush off and you'll be in pain all over again. If I'm doing something that I'd like to finish before pausing, I may ask you to wait an extra five minutes before our break, but if you've reached the breaking point, just say so and I'll stop. Your body, your rules," she said again, and he wondered, considering how she said it, if there was a hidden meaning.
"Sounds good."
"Do you mind if I take a look at your previous ink?" She asked, and he shook his head, offering his arm, then the other. He lifted his pants leg, and showed the snake that was there.
"Cool," she said, brushing lightly his inner arm, lighting a fire where she had touched him. "Sorry, it's not necessary for the process, but I like to see the previous inks to see where the new piece will fit in. When do you want to schedule our session? Tomorrow?"
"Was thinking today," he said, not a big fan of waiting.
She looked and he could see the wheels turning in her head.
"Did you take any drugs, alcohol, or over the counter medicine in the last twenty four hours?" She asked.
He shook his head.
"Ok. I don't have any customers planned for this afternoon, so I guess we could do it. However, I need time to prepare, and print out a stencil on transfer paper. Would it be okay for you to come back in say, two hours?"
He thought about it then nodded. He wondered if he should speak more, but he saw that she didn't mind, may even liked it, who knew…
"You're not a big talker, as I can see," she said, as if reading his mind. "It's good for me. If you want to talk, we'll talk. Otherwise we can do silence. Lord knows some people just love to hear the sound of their own voices… Sometimes silence is more eloquent than words. And more peaceful too.
He found himself nodding along, happy she didn't mind his quasi muteness. There was something he couldn't put his finger on, but he felt like she understood him, on a higher level. It was weird, but he liked it.
"Great. Bring back your ID and emergency contact details for the paperwork. I don't believe I really need to say it, but please have a big meal between now and then. Pain is much more bearable on a full stomach."
He nodded again. She got up and he did the same. She offered him her hand and he shook it, his eyes falling on the ivy tattoo, and wondering about the ones he was not seeing.
"See you at 1PM then," she said.
Leaving the parlor was the most difficult thing he had to do in a while, wanting to stay with Carol, not knowing why, not recognizing himself. Knowing he would see her again in a couple of hours made it worthwhile. He saluted Michonne on his way out, and saw an Asian man chatting with her, another tattoo artist if the gloves were a giveaway, not to mention the tattoos.
Outside, he took a deep breath, and started biding his time until it was time to come back.
At 1PM on the dot, he was back at the parlor, having treated himself to a big lunch. Fainting because he hadn't eaten was not an option, especially when he would be spending time with the enigmatic Carol. Looking back on their talk, he had realized that she had smiled a lot, but hadn't volunteered many information apart from the legal documentation. She had kept things very professional, until she had showed him her ivy bracelet. He hoped he would learn more about her in the hours they would spend together.
Carol was waiting for him, still smiling, and he smiled back again, thinking that if she kept on smiling at him, he would be smiling during the whole tattoo process, and he would probably look like a masochist.
They took care of the paperwork, and she showed him the final stencil. He Okayed it, quite pleased with the results, before paying her. She asked him to take off his shirt, and she turned away to put on some gloves. This was it, he thought. She had seen his scars before, but now she would be seeing them for as long as their session went. She instructed him to lay on his belly on the dentist chair which she had lowered so that it was almost completely horizontal.
"Ready?" She asked.
He nodded, turning his head to her, as she was sitting on his right side, where she would be drawing the tattoo.
She applied the stencil, and made sure the model was printed on his skin. Even through her gloves, he could feel the warmth of her finger on his skin.
She grabbed a surgical mask, and put it on, before grabbing her working gear. He could see through the mask that she was giving him a comforting smile, and he braced himself for the pain to come.
One hour in, they took their first break. He got up and stretched, the skin on his back throbbing. She stretched too, and he couldn't help but notice her lithe body. The t-shirt she was wearing rode up and he caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her left hip, though he had no idea what it represented.
"Are you okay?" She asked, removing the mask for a moment.
He nodded.
"What's the ink on your hip?" He asked.
She had a soft smile, which seemed to be hiding something.
"Have you noticed how Michonne calls me Cherokee, when I don't have any Native American blood in my body? It's a Cherokee rose."
"Are you familiar with its story?"
"Yeah," she said with a deep breath. "That's why I chose it."
He thought about the mothers who had lost their children and wondered on what level she related to that story.
She put the mask back on. She had explained quickly before that it was about ink projection, in case something splashed.
He took the clue, drank some water from the bottle she had pulled out before just for him, and he got back on the chair.
Some time went by and he asked:
"How did you become a tat artist?"
"Short version or long version?" She asked.
"Long."
"I never thought I would be a tattoo artist, but at one point in my life, I met Michonne, who was already licensed, and she saw my drawings. When I was younger, I went to art school though I never graduated. She gave me tips on how to work on perspective, and she told me I had a knack for tattoo patterns. I listened to her, figured anything should be given a chance, and I stuck to it. Did my apprenticeship with Dale, the previous owner, and became licensed myself. Turns out I'm actually pretty good at this."
"Hope so," he joked. "That's my back we're talking about."
She chuckled and went back to working.
"How do you know Michonne?" He asked some time later.
"Short version or long version?" She asked.
He turned his head toward her, and saw that she was dead serious.
"Short for a change," he said, though he wanted to hear everything she had to say.
"She was my cellmate."
"How about the longer version then?" He asked, hoping he wasn't prying.
"Longer version stays pretty much the same. I was in jail, she was my cellmate. She didn't like me until she saw my drawings, and we bonded over our love of art. She introduced me to body art. I owe her a lot."
"What were you doing time for?" He asked.
It was not in his nature to pry, but he had six hours, well 5 hours now, and he wasn't sure he would ever see her again, so just for once, he pried.
"Ready for this?" She asked, after pondering if she would answer.
"Hum."
"I killed my husband."
That left it wordless. So many thoughts were going through his head, he forgot about the pain and tried to make sense of this new information. Carol being in prison already felt like a joke, but being there for committing murder? He didn't know her, sure, but with him, she had been nothing but the sweetest woman ever. Then again, even sweet women sometimes had their breaking point.
"Can I ask?"
"You're trusting me with your back, I suppose I can return the favor and trust you with my story… I got married young, and had a daughter. Husband was abusive, except when I was pregnant. Almost seven years ago, he got into a car accident, and was left unscathed, though my daughter never made it out of the car alive."
That explained the Cherokee rose, he thought.
"I tried to mourn, but he wouldn't let me. Said it was my fault, some crappy logic of his. One time when he was drunk out of his ass, the bartender called me and asked me to pick him up. In the car, he kept on saying horrible things about my baby girl. She was twelve when she died, and for some reason, Ed thought I would be okay with him talking about the sick way he used to look at her. I snapped, and crashed the car into a lamppost, making sure his side was the one totaled."
"The asshole didn't die right away, took him almost two days. When the police asked me about the accident, for some reason, I couldn't lie and told them what I had done."
He looked at her in awe. She was strong, and honest to a fault. He couldn't imagine what she had gone through.
"How long were you in the clink?" He asked.
"I was lucky. I had a court appointed layer who wouldn't let me plead guilty, and though it should have been murder one, or maybe murder two, she presented such a case, I was charged with involuntary manslaughter. The jury took pity on me I suppose, and decided to look the other way. The judge did the same. I was convicted to 16 months, including time served while waiting for a trial. After the sentencing, I did a year."
"And that's where you met Michonne."
"Yep."
"You're one hell of a lady," he said.
He could see from the way she was breathing that this was painful to her and he kept his mouth shut. When they took their second break, he got up, and brushed her hand.
"I didn't mean…"
"I didn't have to answer, did I?" She said.
She smiled again, her mask off, and he felt amazed. Everybody had their drama, their childhood trauma, and those who didn't were lucky motherfuckers. Carol had a fuckload of trauma, yet she was still there, and she had started a new life. It took balls. It amazed him. She looked so frail and fragile, but if the story he had said was any indication, she was tough as nail.
They started working again. The next hour was spent in complete silent, as he pretended to fall asleep when he was really thinking about what she had said.
They took a break, and she removed her gloves and mask.
"Is it me or is it way too hot in here?"
He had started sweating slightly so he could only agree. She went out and changed the temperature settings.
"Tell me if it's too cold for you, and I'll change it again," she said.
He drank some more water, and ate a granola bar. When they were done, he lied back on the table, and she put on some new gloves and mask.
Halfway through the next hour, a kid popped in the room.
"Hey Carol."
"Hey Carl."
"I'm staying right here, I'm not contaminating the room," he said.
"Do you mind if he puts on a mask and gloves and come and see your tattoo?" She asked Daryl.
He didn't mind and told her so. The boy, who had to be in his very early teens came to look over her shoulder and made some comments Daryl didn't understand about the technical aspects of it.
"You're spending way too much time in here kiddo, that's for sure," Carol told the boy with a laugh.
"I owe you ten bucks by the way. Dad came in earlier and asked Michonne out."
Carol allowed herself a happy laugh, having stopped her machine for a second.
"Told you."
"How did you know?" Carl asked.
"He asked me to tattoo a horse on his chest last week. A horse! Michonne's favorite animal in the whole wild world…"
"Dad got a tattoo? Nice! This gives me ammo when I want to get a tat myself!"
"You're way too young right now."
"Yeah yeah… I'll put the bill in your closet, okay? I'll go see how Glenn is doing on his client."
"Sure thing Carl," Carol said.
And the boy was out.
"Sorry about that," Carol said.
"Nice kid. Who does he belong too?"
"The Sheriff. Rick Grimes. Carl used to come into the parlor without his authorization all the time, and at some point, his pop came in and talked to us. We told him his kid would always make his way back to us, and we were fine with it if he was. He had his daughter with him too that time, and Michonne took the baby. I have no idea how it ended up this way, but Michonne, he and I came to an agreement of some sort. While he's at work, we look after his daughter, baby Judith. You may have seen her with Michonne. When Carl is done with school, he comes around and he does his homework here. He watches us do tattoos too when the clients are okay with it. He knows the hygienic protocol. He wants to be a tattoo artist too when he grows up. He already asked Michonne if she would have him as his apprentice."
"I used to come here, when it was Dale's place… It changed a lot."
"Yeah, now it's a woman's business. It's me and Michonne. We have Glenn too but he's not part of the management team."
For some reason, he felt worry swell up in chest at the thought of Carol and Michonne being alone in the shop all day long. Not everybody who came in for a tattoo was sane or trustworthy.
"We hired Tyreese, Sasha's brother, another one of our tattoo artists as a bouncer for customers who we will not serve," she said, as if reading his mind. "What do you do for a living?" She asked.
"This and that. Mostly mechanic gigs. But if you've got a spot opening as a bouncer, I can do that," he said, unsure where this was coming from.
"Drop us a résumé and we'll see, no promise," she said.
Whatever had come over him when he had talked about a bouncer gig, he was now all up for it.
"Tell me more about your tattoos…" He asked.
"Some will remain my business only. I can tell you about the phoenix I have on my lower back. Michonne did it. She's my girl for this. Anyway, when I got out of jail, and she was paroled the following week, Dale had hired her, and I came for her to do something. Phoenixes are cheesy, but I rose from the ashes, didn't I? My phoenix is surrounded by flames. While I was in the clink, my old house burned to the ground, burning my past away, and leaving me with some insurance money. Tattoo seemed to work on more than one level. So many details. I've got my daughter's birthdate in roman numbers below my belly button. Seemed fitting, since I gave birth to her and all. I have her death date above the Cherokee rose. And the rest… Well the rest is to be discovered I guess…"
How he wanted to discover those tattoos, and kiss them all.
"Are you doing okay with the pain? I think we've got another thirty minutes after the coming break and it should be done."
His heart fell in the pit of his stomach, at the thought of their time ending.
"M'okay," He said.
When the next break came, they once again didn't speak. She was in the zone, thinking of the last details, and he was lost in his depressing thoughts. When they were done, he would be coming back to a world without Carol.
"Devils on your shoulder, ah?" She said when they got back to work, "that's quite symbolical. Are they whispering in your ear and you have to fight them, or are they things from your pasts you're trying to forget?"
"Both. The devils are for me and my brother. We did plenty of shitty things. I'm trying to get back on a better path, though I'm not sure why."
A few months ago, he had had an epiphany, while doing some shady things with his brother, and he had thought that this life which had been his for so long was not the life he wanted. For the first time in his life, he had realized that he didn't have to go with the flow, and that he could say stop. So he had. Merle had been pissed, but Daryl had held on.
The cheesy part of him wondered if he had straightened his life up so that when he would meet Carol, he would be someone she could look at and not be afraid of.
Cheesy, cheesy, cheesy.
About forty minute later, they were done, and she was patching his back. She gave him the usual advices, about showers and sun exposure. She went backstage and got him a cream from their stock, saying that it would make things heal faster and his tattoo would be in place sooner and better.
"I've got nobody to apply it for me," he said looking at the tube.
"Keep it anyway," she said. "Maybe there'll be someone who will apply it for you."
He didn't want to get his hopes up, but he would have sworn he saw a glimpse in her eye, a promise of something more, though he did not know what.
She walked with him back to the entrance, giving him more advice. Finally, they stood, next to each other, and he knew he had to leave.
Quickly, she rose on her toes and kissed his forehead, surprising the shit out of him.
"Thank you for listening," she said.
He had asked, he thought, and he should have been thanking her for sharing. However, the kiss had an overwhelming effect, and the throbbing of his back was nothing compared to the warmth he felt where her lips had touched his skin.
"If there's any problem, come back and we'll see what we can do. In two weeks, when the ink should have settled with the swelling gone, if there's something you want tinkered with, we provide that too."
He was bad at social situations, just terrible, so he nodded, for the umpteenth time.
"Well, thanks, and bye," he said.
"Bye Daryl", Carol said with another smile.
He walked out of the parlor, his mind full with so many thoughts he could barely keep up. There was something though, in his belly, which made him feel like maybe, this was not the beginning of a Carol-less world.
Two weeks later
He was sleeping happily when he felt movement around him. Too tired to worry, he just burrowed his head into the pillow.
He felt the sheet on his back being removed, and he heard the sound of a camera going off.
"Come 'ere," He said, grabbing Carol by the wrist and rolling them over.
She was wearing his shirt, and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of it. Life worked out sometimes, when you least expected it. He had come back to the tattoo parlor the day after his session, having forgotten his ID, and when he had seen Carol again, he had done the unthinkable:
He had asked her out. And she had said yes.
The connection he had felt spending time with her was very real, and their courtship had been quick. She didn't care for flowers or restaurants, she was happy with dinners, and beer. Everything had happened so fast, because it had happened so naturally.
Turns out he didn't have to live in a Carol-less world after all.
"I just wanted a picture for my portfolio," she said before kissing the corner of his mouth. "I forgot to ask if there was a price to pay for that…"
Carefully, he put the camera on the bed table, and focused his attention on the woman beneath his body. He kissed the ivy tattoo on her wrist, which he now knew was a symbol of the fact that she always came back. It was not so much a bracelet as a shackle, but with TLC he hoped to make it really become just a bracelet, an adornment of some sort.
He kissed her mouth with delectation and he heard her sigh as she went for his hair.
"I'm not cheap woman, better be ready to pay the price," he said against her mouth.
"Anything for my art," she giggled.
And he kissed her again.