"And he's called me darling, ever since," Clive chuckles.
"I'm telling the story right this time, aren't I?" I ask, preening.
"Yes, at least in this go round you're not afraid to admit you were completely clueless."
"Artistic license, darling, artistic license." I stick my tongue out at him.
"Do you need a refresher?" Clive asks Kaneki-kun. He's hardly touched his coffee, so he declines. Clive stands and takes my empty cup to the pot on the counter. It's nowhere near as good as Kaneki-kun's coffee, but it would be rude to make our white-haired companion brew the coffee when he is our guest.
"Was it love at first sight?" he asks, as I watch Clive walk and contemplate my answer. It is the little things I enjoy about him, his physicality, his sense of humor, his loyalty, but it is the way that he pampers and spoils me that are my favorite parts of our relationship; that he depends on me for his life, doesn't often cross my mind often, except when I rehash this old drama. We've been like an old married couple for so long, that it seems like we've always been together.
"Love at first sight? I'm not sure that's right. I wanted to eat him from the moment I smelled him."
"Gluttony at first scent," Clive suggests.
"Yes, probably, after all, we know my stomach is bottomless. Is that how you felt about Touka when you first met her?"
"Oh, I, um," Kaneki-kun stutters. "She'd scared me, actually. She was always shouting at me, or punching me."
"I was scared to death of Uta… well, really, everyone was terrifying," Clive admits, "I was waiting for him to hurt me. Everyone else had. I didn't have high expectations of living a long, happy life…"
That next night, he came a little later than normal, but we got right down to business.
"Alright, so you'll start on the mask, and I'll repair your wrist tattoo, and I should be able to get most of the sunburst done in one night."
"How about the sun first, and the wrist if you have time tomorrow?"
"Sure," the kid said. "When do you want to stop by the shop?" He fished a flashy business card out of his back pocket and handed it over. The card was covered with a scroll-like design and there was barely enough negative space for the name and website address of the shop. On the reverse side, in a strange loose script it read: Clive Imahara.
"How do you say your first name?"
"Clive," he pronounced it sharply.
"Crive?" I tried.
"No, Clive."
"British?"
"Sort of, my mother was from New Zealand, my dad's Japanese."
"That's cool, I'll have to practice that. Wait? Did you say I'd have to go to your shop? Can't you do it here?" I gave him my best sad puppy dog eyes, it worked most of the time on Renji, so I figured it might work on a human, too.
"I could… I guess, but I'd still need my tools."
"Maybe I have what you need? I did manage this much with what I have," I gestured for Clive to follow me into the back room, and showed him the setup I'd established for myself.
"Wow, no wonder you're not happy, this is some crappy materials you're working with?"
"That bad, huh?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
"I wouldn't shoot my worst enemy with this gun; you're needles aren't bad, but, nah, I can't work with this. You'll be happier if you come to the shop."
"I'm agoraphobic," I stammered, backing away from the kid. Gah, I'm so hungry I can't think straight, and he wants me to go out there? Among the humans?
"Um, ok, then I'll come by after work. I'm sure when I tell Goro I'm doing work to pay for the mask that he'll… um, support me working overtime."
"Alright, tomorrow night. I'll have the first coats of paint on it by the time you get here."
"Cool, Uta, thanks for doing this for me." He completed the paperwork I'd presented him for the official ordering of the mask and then left.
I took the 'open' shingle off the door, and locked it behind me. I started the mask that night with the 3-D printer and the vacuum forming machine so that I could get the first layers of paint on and dry before the morning, but not before I ate. I collapsed into the chair nearest the small fridge in the breakroom and pulled out my bento. I snacked all through the night and met my goal for the mask before the sun came up.
"Have you ever met a Goro that you trusted, Kaneki-kun?" I ask, shuddering. "I hate the sound of that name to this day."
"I don't think I've ever met a Goro before."
"It's just a name, Uta, and he's been dead for years. You've got to let it go sometime."
"No, I will never forgive him and that's my right."
"Ok, Uta, ok," Clive humors me, but I can't understand his forgiveness. "Let me take this next part, since it's a little more technical...
I was thrilled with the progress of the mask. And since we'd parted company last, I'd transformed Uta's design into a tattoo pattern and gotten the transfer paper ready, so all I had to do was spread the Speed Stick deodorant that my boss swore was the only kind of transfer gel allowed at the shop and press the design onto Uta's flesh."
"Do you want me to avoid the nipple?" I asked, my professional eye seeing only the canvas of green deodorant on his chest.
"I don't care, I just want it to look awesome."
"It'll hurt more," I advised. For the first time around Uta, I took off my hoodie and let him see that I was wearing a cast on my left arm.
"Like I said, I don't care. What happened to your arm?" I had been afraid of that question, but it would have been too hard to work and have to constantly push the sleeves up, and I took the chance he would ignore it; I lost.
"It got broke. Ok, then I've brought two copies of the transfer with me, in case you weren't happy with the placement. Why don't you line it up where you want and we'll see where the nipple falls?"
Thankfully, Uta let the questions die on his tongue. Why shouldn't he? He didn't have any reason to know my story, and if I didn't want to talk about how my arm 'got broke,' it wasn't really any of his damn business. As soon as I had said it though, I realized he'd focused in on the semantics. I could practically see him thinking, Got broke, not I broke my arm…
Uta stood before the mirror, all up close and looked at the pattern. All this time, I'd wondered how he could make masks and how much he could actually see, but if I asked those questions, he would have had the right to ask me questions in return, and I wasn't ready for that. Instead, he pushed the transfer down on his pectoral muscle, nodded, and turned around. "Here's good; I like the way the rays cross my sternum."
"Ok, um, now this would be easier on me if you could recline or lay down." Uta hopped up on the counter and laid down. I took up the gun, already loaded and ready to go, and bent over Uta's chest. I took a deep cleansing breath, and started.
"If you ever want a tattoo, you should get Clive to do it. He's amazing with the gun."
"I've considered it, and you're tattoos are amazing, but I wasn't sure if my healing factor would be an issue or not."
"It's never been a problem for me, and I heal very, very quickly. Even when that Dove stabbed me in the face, I was good to go a short time later."
Clive mutters something under his breath. He's learned I can hear almost anything, so if he wants his comments to be private, he has to make them in English. To this day, he refuses to teach me his first language, despite my pleading, puppy dog eyes, and extra special blow jobs. Hell, if I can't snack on him, he has to let me eat him in other ways.
"You've done most of Uta's, then?" Kaneki-kun ask, shattering the image in my mind. Tonight… yes, tonight I'll entertain more wicked thoughts about adding to the love bites that mark his inner thigh.
"Everything except the collar and the inner sleeve on his left arm."
"And every Clown's tattoo for the past decade." I'm incredibly proud and boastful when it comes to Clive's work, as if I'm somehow responsible for his genius.
"For the most part, I only do Ghoul tattoos now."
"Really? Why?"
"Well, the way he tells it…"
"Shit, you're skin is so perfect for tattooing. I wish all my clients were that easy," Clive said as he stepped behind the counter and threw away his gloves. The tools would have to be disinfected at the shop in the morning, but he could at least wash up.
"Really?"
"Yeah, you don't bleed a lot, you have no freckles or blemishes to speak of, you're just a tabula rosa, and it's nice not to have a screamer for a change."
"A screamer?" I giggled, sitting up.
"Slowly now," Clive suggested, putting a hand out to make sure I didn't fall as I suddenly sat upright after the two-hour session. "Yup, I'm the junior member of the shop, so I get all the first-time clients and the wimps who can't sit through the first puncture without screaming. Eventually we'll hire someone new and I'll get to pass off the screamers on them."
"Do you have enough time for the wrist? Or do you need to go?"
Clive checked his watch. "Let me make a quick call and then I'll do the repair."
Clive was supposed to come back the next night to shoot the second full tattoo and pick up the completed mask, but the time came and went and I figured that life had just gotten in the way. When he didn't come in the following night either, I began to worry. I found Clive's business card and using the website address, called the shop.
"Clive? No, his boyfriend called him in sick yesterday. If you talk to him, tell him he'd better get his ass into the shop tomorrow, or he's fired," the guy on the other end said, hanging up on me. I didn't stop there, but dug out the order form and called the number on there as well. It rang once and went directly to voicemail.
"Let me know when you're free. The mask is done. You can call me at this number."
Another day went by and when I called again, it rang once and it said that the voicemail was full. I called Renji. "Can you take a walk with me? I may need some backup."
"Depends on why."
"I need to check on a valued customer. He was supposed to pick up his mask a week ago and I haven't heard from him. I'm afraid something happened to him."
"When?"
"I don't know, like I said, I haven't heard from him in days."
"No, I meant when do you want to go?"
"Oh, when are you free? Now would be good."
"I'll come get you."