She wasn't exactly what Irial was expecting.
He was expecting a rebel, or possibly a Goth, face riddled with piercings, and already having sleeves of tattoos.
This girl though, reminded him of Leslie, though their physical appearances couldn't have been more different… It was the essence of this mortal, so keen and wanting of this tattoo, almost desperate to have it against her skin. A quick look over revealed that her skin was virgin, to both tattoos and piercings. Her aura, wasn't dark and wounded like Leslie's was, though there seemed to be a slight bit of trauma under the surface, that tickled against his tongue, though she was dealing better than Leslie had. And, with a quick scan though he was polite enough not to probe too deeply, she definitely hadn't been raped and warring with poverty.
It might be smart, he thought, to delve deeper and find out WHAT this girl's tragedy was, but he didn't want this mortal. He didn't want any ink exchanges; he didn't even want to be here. He just wanted to be in his hotel room-it was the one that he and Leslie had shared, so many years ago, he always rented it out, for two months, around this time of year, around the time when she had gotten her ink-and to sit in the dark, assaulted by memories. Maybe even go out, and as Niall used to do, watch Leslie, make sure she was okay. He loved her, his Shadow Girl… He'd been weakened by her.
And, he thought dimly, as would Niall, if he were to take this mortal and wasn't careful. There were no new fey in the Dark Court, still many of the same, and no one was strong enough to hold the title. An ink exchange might not fare well, and the court wasn't too hungry, Niall had seen to that…
But something about this girl.
She was intriguing, in the way she stood, her hands levelly on her hips as she debated with poor Rabbit, but she wasn't harsh in her words. For some reason, Irial didn't believe that 'harsh' would be in this mortal's nature. She had a tumble of long, light almost chestnut colored hair, with faint waves and kinks here and there, as it journeyed down her back, and it appeared layered in the back, as it seemed to slant down in a point at almost the nape of her back. She wasn't tall, and willowy, as his Leslie had been, but rather on the short side, with slight curves that hinted at a French background, though her voice had the slightest touch of an Italian accent. And when she glanced over her shoulder at him, he saw the appreciative look in her eyes as they glanced at him, and for a moment he almost called her eyes pretty, light blue with what seemed like honey flecks. Her skin was pale ivory, soft and smooth, though he could tell there were bits of olive undertones, once again hinting at a French-Italian background.
But then Irial's eyes fell on his old friend, Rabbit, who smiled appreciatively at Irial. "Iri." He said, as he moved from behind the counter to shake hands with Irial. He looked pointedly at the girl, who was now facing them, directing Irial's eyes to her, as if he hadn't already made his observations. He then turned to look at the girl, and raised his brow, going for annoyance.
"This is the girl who wants Niall's ink?"
"Excuse me?" It was the first time the girl had spoken to him, and he was surprised that she had. Over the years, he had made his glamour harsher, and he was positive that he had his glamour in place right now-the years had merely scorned him, not made him careless. Most of the time, his glamour frightened people, and he liked that-it made them stay away.
"That tattoo. It's a friend of mine's, his design that is," Irial's voice was quick, he was telling the truth, though not the whole truth. He saw it in the mortal's eyes; she thought that Irial's friend was a tattoo artist. "He sent me to see if you'd be worth the ink." He thought of his Gancanagh friend, and the pain he himself had felt, firsthand, as Rabbit had taken the blood from his veins, and all the other pain that the ink exchange had brought him. "What's your name anyways girl, how old are you?"
The girl glared up at him, and Irial almost chuckled that she had the gall to do so. He could kill her, so easily… "My name is Amora. And I'm nineteen. Not that it matters to you."
Irial once again raised his eyebrows. He, quite frankly, was growing intolerant of this girl, and truly wanted some alcohol to soothe the angst of the possibility of another ink exchange. "A little short for nineteen, aren't you?"
"A little pissy for a grown man, aren't you?"
Rabbit chuckled slightly, shaking his head and tugging on his goatee.
"Little girl, it does in deed matter to me, as it should to you, for your ink could rest in my hands." Irial's eyes darkened as he spoke.
"No, I mean it doesn't matter my name, or my age. You have it set in your heart to dislike me. I saw it, the moment you walked through the door." Amora countered, once again folding her arms over her chest, not quite in a pout.
"So what are you, some all mighty seer?" Irial snorted.
Amora rolled her eyes, "I'm not stupid, is what I am." Then she hunched her shoulders, and turned away from him, to Rabbit. "May I please, just get the tattoo? I'll pay you in full, and in cash…" she walked across the room, back to the counter, and touched the page where Nial's tattoo was, his eyes, her finger lingering on his scar. There was an odd tenderness, in how she touched the picture, such a longing for it, or maybe it was the person that the tattoo was of. "I need this, Rabbit." She whispered.
For a moment, Rabbit was stunned. Leslie had said almost those same exact words to him, when he had questioned her on wanting the tattoo. The girl even had the same desperate tone. For a moment, he paused, then turned and grabbed Irial's sleeve. "I'll be right back, Amora." He muttered, tugging Irial into a back room.
"Watch her. Don't look at her like she's replacing Leslie, for just a second, and look at how she stares at the design." Rabbit whispered.
Reluctance clear in his posture, Irial looked out at Amora, and realized that he HAD indeed been looking at her as if she were a replacement for Leslie, the situations were simply too alike. But he took a moment, to look at her clearly, for a moment pushing Leslie to the farest corner of his mind. She did, indeed, look at that tattoo with such longing, as if her mind were already made up, and that was her destiny, to have the touch of the needles against some part of her skin, in that tattoo. It truly was as if the tattoo spoke to her, as she drew her finger around the page, wanting it in every sense of her being.
Her eyes, Irial realized, were unguarded, at least for now. They were open for him to see her emotions and thoughts, though if he tried hard enough, he could taste them. She wasn't like the other mortals, she wasn't as weak as could be, though not quite Leslie strong-that could change, he thought, suddenly surprised at the turn of his thoughts-and it wasn't just a tattoo she'd found interesting. She WANTED it.
With a sigh, Irial pulled out a camera from his pocket, and walked back out. "Smile," he said simply, snapping a picture of her, "I'll show this to Niall. It'll be his decision." His tone was firm. Damn, he hated doing this.
His thoughts were racing in a million different directions, as he walked out of the shop and onto the street. He knew, Niall would consent to the ink exchange. It would benefit the court. While there wasn't famine, as there had been at the end of Irial's reign, there were still bouts of hunger, and Niall wanted everyone fed. That was just his kind way. And it was killing Irial.
Walking this time, Irial knocked on the mansion door that Niall used to take up his permanent residence. Gabriel answered the door, the same Gabriel as when Irial himself had ruled. He smiled warmly at Irial, "Iri, you've come out!" he said, clapping the faerie on the back.
Irial moved away, nodding slowly. "I need to speak with Niall." That was all he said, walking at a brisk pace away from the Hound, leaving the man staring at Irial in shock. Then, the Hound came to his senses. "Irial, wait!" he called, though the fae just pretended to not hear.
Irial opened the door to Niall's study, not even caring to knock, and held out the camera. "I say go for it. The girl is…" his words cut short, as slowly the chair opposite Niall swiveled around, the person in it turning to face him.
He was sure that his heart would stop beating. He was sure that he would break down, and he was sure that guilt was about to consume him.
Tears were stinging her cheeks. "You promised me, Irial that you wouldn't do another ink exchange." Leslie whispered.