Entry #1 – Of Fishmongers and Masochists
Name: Abarai Renji
Occupation: Shin'o Academy first year student
The bamboo wind chimes sounded as the shop door slid open. A boy stepped in, his tall frame casting a looming shadow into the muted room. He was followed by a much more diminutive girl, who quickly gave the tattoo parlour an once-over upon entering.
Another female, who had been seated behind the counter scratching at a paper with a brush, perked up.
"Erm," the male began. He was a burly teen clothed in street garbs, his scarlet hair bunched up in a tight ponytail. One of his arms was cocked at the elbow, a finger scratching at his cheek in nervousness. "Is this the tattoo place?"
The girl on the opposite side of the counter smiled politely. "Nope, this is the fishmonger." The boy's female companion kicked him in the shins.
"Fool! Where else could this be?"
"Ow! I knew that! I just, I..."
"Would you like to get a tattoo?" the girl behind the counter purred demurely. She recognised the pair, of course. She had seen the two streaking across the streets of Inuzuri, enraged shopkeepers after them and their accomplices, when she was a kid. Over the past few months, she had watched the male one peering into the parlour with suppressed curiosity at times, occasionally venturing in to rove the shop.
"Heck yeah! I mean-" A prod from his female friend had him clearing his throat awkwardly. "Yes...please."
The smile on the girl's face stretched wider. "Have a look around; take your pick." Having said that, she turned and disappeared behind the partition between this room and the next. Left to their own devices, the boy and the girl started wandering around.
The boy knew the place, roughly. He had previously been to the tattoo parlour, months of gazing at the shop front from just across the street, of watching in awe as people stepped out brandishing their newly acquired tattoos, even entered the shop once or twice, pretending to be a customer. He recognised the small counter and the girl behind it. He recognised the array of placards, each bearing a unique design, arranged immaculately on the tables bordering the room. He recognised the smell of ink and must.
The girl was visiting the parlour for her first time. Needless to say, she didn't come for the tattoos. She tried to feign interest as she browsed through the various displays, but genuine excitement eventually shone through when she came across one of them.
"This one, Renji!"
The redhead glanced up from his corner of the room at the design that his friend was holding up eagerly. "Hell no."
The tattoo was that of a cartoonised rabbit – more specifically, the girl's favourite mascot, Chappy. A shiver ran down the boy's spine at the thought of carrying that design, of anyone carrying that design, for that matter. He rolled his eyes at the girl's puppy-dog violet eyes and resumed pouring over the designs at his corner.
At that moment, the counter girl returned, emerging through the curtains holding a tray of equipment and a basin of water in her hands. She set these down on the countertop, her hands setting to work on her hair, clipping the long, ebony tresses up atop her head. "So, seen anything you like yet?"
"Gimme a moment." The boy was reading the words neatly printed on the back of one of the placards. What set this tattoo parlour from others – he had discovered on his first visit here – was that each tattoo design was accompanied by a brief write-up, the story of the people who had previously chosen these tattoos, or even requested their own designs. It was partially what inspired him to take up a tattoo in the first place; he wanted tattoos to tell his story, as well.
The girl shrugged, catching a strand of hair that had strayed out of her grasp and pressing it back down. "Take your time."
He carefully put down the placard he was reading, before picking up another one. The design was interesting – a dragon winding around a ball of flame. He flipped it over and scanned the description tied to it. A passionate profession of love to his lover. He frowned. Nope.
Replacing the placard back on the table, he caught sight of another, its edges poking out from beneath a stack of papers. He gingerly pulled it out. The placard was on its flipside, and the boy read the write-up first. Name: Horikyo, Occupation:...A blank. The boy paused. No occupation? That was the first he had come across amongst all the other designs. The rest of them were filled, even if it was just an 'Inuzuri resident'. Also, Horikyo what? He had no idea if the ambiguous name belonged to a male or female.
Furrowing his crimson brows, he read on. Drawn over multiple occasions. New strokes were added on every time an accomplishment of great significance was achieved; these tattoos served as a collection of war trophies. There was no other story, meaning he – or she - was the only one with the tattoo, thus far. The teen male contemplated this. It did seem pretty interesting and apt, considering his own purpose for tattooing as well.
He turned the piece of paper over and his breath caught.
Unlike most of the other designs, the placard bore the outline of a body, indicating that it was a full-body tattoo. Black decorated the body, in two symmetrical rows of bold, jagged lines, from forehead to hip. It was slightly perturbing but was also raw and primal and he wanted it. He knew that with growing certainty as he continued staring down at it, before raising it up and waving it at the counter girl.
"I'll take this." The girl looked up from where she was slipping a black leather glove onto her left hand. The redhead could have imagined it but he thought he saw a look of alarm flicker across the girl's pale face before she quickly smoothed it over with her practiced smile.
"That's rare," she commented, the smile not reaching her eyes. "Few people choose that because of the great amount of pain tattooing that will bring. Are you sure you want that, okyaku-san?"
Only one person, to be precise, the male thought. Aloud, he said, "Yep. I can get it done over many times. Like Horikyo-san." The girl's expression darkened at his response.
And then, she suddenly grinned. "Okyaku-san-"
"Are you a masochist?"
The other girl, who had observed their exchange silently all this while, snorted. "No, he's just an idiot." When the redhead opened his mouth to shoot an angry retort, she quickly added on, "Whatever. Your face was unsalvageable anyway, Renji." In spite of the fuming boy, the girl behind the counter chuckled.
"Understood. Sit here, if you please." Expertly, she hooked one of her legs on a second tall chair behind the counter and dragged it out. She hopped off her own chair as the redhead male approached and sat. The boy passed her the placard containing the design and she fingered it lightly, seemingly in thought.
Then, she raised her head and inquired. "Where would you like to start first?" Up close, her eyes were a startling and piercing turquoise blue, the boy noticed.
He had prepared for this. "Here," he prodded at the lines right above where the eyes should have been. The most prominent place.
The ebony-haired girl quirked an eyebrow. "The forehead, being the closest to the brain, will be the most painful part. Are you sure?"
The boy nodded. "Sure."
The girl shook her head, smiling faintly. The boy caught a whiff of something earthy. "You really are a masochist." Nevertheless, she dragged the tray and basin of water towards him. The boy could now see what was on the tray – needles, cotton swabs and an inkwell.
"Your eyebrows need to be shaved first; lemme go take the razor," the girl continued, ready to disappear through the partitions again. "Hold on for a mo'." Something suddenly occurred to the boy and he hastily halted the girl.
"Wait, uh, you're the one doing the tattooing?" he tried not to sound nervous.
The female looked back and smirked slightly. "Do you see anyone else around here?" She chuckled at the boy's flabbergasted look as she disappeared behind the curtains.
What the-?! The street urchin male had always thought the tattoo artist was another person – an older, wiser and more experienced person – who only appeared to engrave tattoos on others. Heck, the girl couldn't have been older than him!
His female companion slid up next to him, laughing. "Having second thoughts, tough boy?" Her violet eyes were twinkling with the anticipation of spectating.
"N-No way! I just needed to check, is all." The female artist re-entered the room, approaching him with a razor and a tube of shaving cream in hand. The boy restrained the urge to recoil from the menacing glint of the razor.
"Uh, just wondering, how long have you been doing this?"
The ebony-haired tattoo artist replied immediately, "A whole lifetime!" The boy didn't think it was a joking matter. Sensing this, the girl shot him a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. I know what I am doing. Now stay still." The male was taken by surprise when her fingers suddenly came in contact with his chin, holding his head in place. First squeezing some cream onto her fingers, she smeared a portion over her customer's eyebrows. Without hesitation, she took the razor and shaved off both his eyebrows. She was being careful, the boy could tell, and yet she worked deftly.
"Once you tattoo these, your skin here will never be able to grow hair again," she explained, inspecting her handiwork. "Now wash up and I'll go change the water."
She pushed the water basin towards him, who dipped his forehead into it, washing off the remnants of the cream. When he was done, the girl took the basin and left the room. After making sure she was gone, the girl left in the room guffawed at her friend's appearance.
"No...eyebrows!" she gasped out in between bursts of laughter, pointing at him while clutching her stomach.
"Shut up," the subject growled. He was saved from continued mockery when the girl reappeared with the basin of new water in hand. His friend quickly clamped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle the giggles.
The tattoo artist looked amused. "I see your friend is really excited for you. Let's begin then, shall we?"
"Ah, yes," he barely had time to make out before her fingers were on his forehead again, with a brush, tapping on his skin as she drew out the lines of the design. Her touch was light and nimble, a result of years of practice and experience. He noticed that the girl bore a tattoo as well, a flower design of some sort printed on her wrist, its edges disappearing into the glove. After the design had been applied, the girl raised a mirror to his face. "Okay?"
The male customer examined himself. "Fine."
The tattoo artist lowered the mirror. From his peripheral vision, he saw her hand further reach for a needle from the tray. It looked bigger than he expected. He closed his eyes, feeling slightly queasy.
"That's right, keep your eyes closed." He felt her breath on his cheek. It smelt somewhat minty. "And don't move." The first sting came, before her instructions had barely sank in. The needle punctured in quick successions, and his forehead was suddenly smarting with an intensity he had never felt before. His fists tensed around the edges of the chair.
"You could get your friend to hold your hand, if you like." Even with his eyes closed, the boy could sense the hint of humour in her voice. Feeling the heat rush to his face, he opened his mouth to refuse. Towards his right, he heard Rukia shout, "Like I'd ever hold his hand!" She sounded distant, as if it was only him and the tattoo girl in this room and she was in another one far away.
"Don't frown. Ah..." He felt something fluid trickle from his forehead, followed by a cloth gently wiping it away. He immediately forced himself to relax his muscles and the tattooing continued for a while longer, in silence.
"So," the girl suddenly said, and the boy focused on her voice to take his mind off the stinging pain. "What's your story?" The boy tried to clear his mind from the cloud of pain he was experiencing to recall why exactly he had come here in the first place.
"I am Abarai Renji, and that idiot with me is Rukia," he began carefully. "We've lived on these streets since as long as we can remember. But a week ago, we took the entrance exam to the Shin'o Academy and both passed. We're both going to become shinigamis."
Her fingers on him paused, before resuming. "Congratulations. So this is your way of commemorating?"
The boy called Renji suppressed the proud grin that threatened to surface on his face. "Sorta. And also...it's the start of a new life, for both of us. And so...I'd like to commemorate each achievement I make with a tattoo, so that I won't forget 'em."
The tattoo artist was silent for a while. "That's interesting," she finally hummed, as she continued with her work. There was a break in which she exchanged the needle in her hands with another.
The tattooing process took a long time. Or at least, to Renji it seemed like an enduringly long time. He was sure he had never sat so still for such an extended period. When the girl finally declared "Done!", he exhaled deeply. He opened his eyes a little bit too quickly - just as the female dabbed at the last spot with a cotton gauze – her electric turquoise eyes stunned him for a moment.
She backed away and held up a mirror to him again. The redhead immediately raised a finger to gingerly poke at the tender spot. Bold, jagged lines, printed exactly like the ones on the placard. They were part of him now. He grinned.
"Perfect," he murmured.
"Perfect-ly stupid," Rukia remarked, and he glowered at her. But out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the ebony-haired girl smiling, not at him, but at his new tattoos. It was a genuine smile this time, one that finally reached her turquoise eyes. Renji had seen enough homeless kids to know that it was a smile of appreciation.
"Pay her and let's get going, Renji," the slight girl beside him reminded. "Time to show off your new eyebrows to the rest of the world." He hurriedly did as he was told and before he knew it, was being rushed out of the door by Rukia. The bamboo wind chimes sounded again, as the door slid open.
Before he passed the doorway, however, he turned back into the shop again.
"Th-Thank you," he made out, his finger scratching at his cheek again. Damn, he was never good at these stuff. The girl bowed politely in return.
"See you again, Abarai-san."
The stories that I write are always so long-winded and wordy, this idea came to me when I was thinking about writing a shorter installation. As you can see, the 'non-wordy' didn't work out too well, hurhur.
Anyway, I've sort of developed the plot in my head, and I felt inspired, so I might be dedicating more time to this, while The One Who Calls Me Hime will...go into a mini-hiatus. Hope you enjoy.
Feedback and reviews are greatly appreciated!
