Altan could really not even begin to comprehend what was running through the mind of the owner when he named it "Something Awesome! Tattoo Parlor." He was known to ingest some brightly coloured pills from time to time... Maybe that would explain it.. It would also explain quite a few of the tattoos that the forty-something man sported. Seriously who got a tattoo of a the McDonald's logo?

The name was obviously not horrible enough to keep people away, because the shop was doing fairly well. Usually with a few clients a day coming in with their body modification needs. Clientele ranged from some "rebellious" teens piercing their tongues to a woman getting a poem by Dylan Thomas inscribed into her back, and bikers and truckers getting "I <3 Mom" tattoos on their beefy biceps. Something Awesome! Tattoo Parlor had a reputation for delivering excellent service. Chances are if any body modification happened in the city it was done here.. Or in a dank room under the influence of far too many bottles of the cheap, stolen alcohol.

Altan simply referred to her place of vocation as "The Shop." It lessened the number of odd stares and giggles from whomever she was speaking with. The shop was well lit with various private workspaces for those getting tattooed and pierced in more "intimate" areas of their body. In the front area of the shop there were a few chairs for the quick navel and ear piercings along with display case upon display case of jewelry. Flash sheets decorated the walls along with pictures of some of the artists favorite works. It had a very clean appearance almost mirroring a family-friendly environment.


Today was an uncharacteristically slow day. None of the other artists were in except for Altan. And the only client she had chickened out and left. So, Altan was alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts and her essay... And then when her essay was done alone with her... with her... well her laptop was out of batteries... her book had already been finished.... She was left alone with her... CD player. Music was always a good option.

Sliding across the hardwood floor to the CD player she placed in a burned CD. Once the device registered it began blasting Under Pressure. The original, of course, not the lame cover by the Blood Brothers. Altan rolled in her chair back to a table where she had been working on some new designs.

Her hair was currently in a small fauxhawk in a shade of vibrant lime green that clashed beautifully with her hotpink shirt and violet jeans. Altan's theory on fashion was that if you tossed together enough stuff that clashed it would eventually match. Most of the time her attitude managed to carry the clothing more than anything else. Her pierced eyebrow was raised and she shook her head before tearing up a piece of paper and tossing it over her shoulder to land a few feet away from the trashcan in a pile of other wrinkled balls of paper.

She placed her pencil into her mouth and began to chew on the eraser absentmindedly. Four more hours until she got off. She would manage to find some way to amuse herself. She always did.

Diane is a bit dubious about going into anything called "Something Awesome!" It sounds like a name for a kitchsy store of the variety that sells flower-printed teapots, key-chains with your name written on them and stuffies with plaid scarves.

She is, however, willing to put this doubt aside. The place was recommended. Recommended by a young man who, after Gods knew how many shots of vodka, had shown her his tattoo. A half-transformed female naga, her snake half twisting down his thigh. Diane had been impressed - so much that she still remembered the name of the place the next morning.

Then again, it is a memorable name.

She doesn't want anything quite as fancy as the naga. It's something small. You could even say it was just text, depending on your point of view. But Diane quites like the idea of it. It's the sort of thing that would feel good under her skin, and it's of some sentimental value to her.

So there she is, pushing open the door and stepping into Something Awesome!

It's a Sunday afternoon, which means she's already been at work all morning, and then come home and changed out of the godless green polo she's required to wear while weighing grapefruits and packing eco-friendly bags at the local Loblaws. She's now sporting her usual look - cheap goth hooker meets trainwreck chic.

Her opaque black stockings have numerous runs. Her fingernails are raggy and the black varnish is chipped. Clunky combat boots need polished. She has two inches of brown roots in her streaked hair and the ends are raggy and split. No earrings in her ears, despite there being a piercing in the lobe of each one.

Not exactly the epitome of a lady.

Her makeup, on the other hand - red lipstick, black eyeshadow, kohl, white foundation - is immaculate, if on the heavy side. It still doesn't quite cover the fact that she looks dead tired.

She glances around the tattoo parlour, having a quick look-see, and then her stone green eyes settle on Altan. They are appreciative, both of the girl and the outfit.

"Hey," Diane says, "nice hair."

Altan was deeply immersed in her newest creation that she barely heard the door swing open and the bells attatched to it chime. That might have also been caused by the blaring of her music that had switched to a song by Placebo. Altan glanced up from her work to smile.

"Thanks." She called over the blasting music. "It's some color I found when I was in Amsterdam. I order it online now."

She placed the pencil on the table before she pushed herself from the table to the CD player slowing the speeding chair with the sole of her bright orange shoes.

"Sorry about the music. I'm here alone. Everyone called in sick today. With an odd case of unexplainable pain that is too bad to work but not bad enough to have to see a doctor. Oddly enough today is the day of some big concert they wanted to leave early for." She shook her head and glided back to the desk.

"Even the owner left a note saying his head hurt so he wouldn't be in today. So whatever you want to get done today I'll be your artist. Can I help you with something or are you still in the consideration stage?" She smiled and stood up offering her hand across the counter to Diane.

"I'm Altan Shabrahm by the way. My portfolio is over by my work station if you want proof I know what I'm doing." She smiled and winked at the gothic girl in front of her. She was going to shoot herself if the girl wanted and ankh or a bat.

Diane runs a pudgy left hand through her own hair. It feels like wire, as usual, and she thinks vaguely that she really ought to re-dye it or shave it off or something. She's not sure how she'd look with a shaved head, mind. Her face is probably too round or too fat for it. Or something.

She crosses the room and offers Altan her hand. She hates shaking peoples hands - ewww, casual, sober human contact, ewww - but it's one of those things life tends to make you do. "I'm Diane," she informs Altan. She never adds her last name, never mind her horrific middle name. It's all too confusing for people.

Reclaiming her hand, she wanders over to Altan's workspace to look at the portfolio. She's honestly not too worried about Altan's knowing what she's doing. Possibly Diane is too faithful, or maybe the tattoo artist just inspires confidence. "It's just something really small and easy," she says, "not that I have any doubt in your skill. Someone told me I should come here, this guy... He had, like, a snake-girl on his leg. I didn't catch his name."

She's flipping through the portfolio, vaguely aware that she's probably mindlessly babbling. She glances back at Altan, smiling for good measure. "Do you know Greek letters? Sigma and Theta, particularly."

She can't read Altan's thoughts. If she knew what Altan was thinking - about tattoos and bats - she'd be quite amused. She does have an ankh, as it happens. It's a tribute to Neil Gaiman's Death. But she really wouldn't fancy the idea of a bat. A mouse, she could see, maybe.

"Oh yeah. Stephen. That was a bitch to do. I did all the shading and colors because the guy that had been doing the outline fucked up his wrist really badly while skateboarding."

"Sigma and theta... Theta Sigma? ...Like the Doctor's nickname?" She asks rubbing the back of her neck and letting out a small laugh.

"Or is it some new sorority on campus I am unaware of."

"What would you want the font to look like? Something as quick as that will probably only run you thirty or so dollars. It'll probably take fifteen minutes tops." She picked up her pen and quickly sketched out the lettering on a piece of tracing paper. She pretty much had the Greek alphabet memorized with the amount of frat boys coming in to get their houses names on them.

"Do you know what placing you would like? Something like this would be able to fit pretty much anywhere you want it." She walked over to her work station and showed Diane the lettering.

"Do you want something like this? I can do it in a blockier style if you prefer that or a more italicized sort of style."

"You did a good job, though," Diane says, grinning slightly - just because it was high enough on Stephen's thigh that it said something about anyone who'd seen it. Other then the people who'd done it, of course. "Yeah, yeah. Like the Doctor's nickname. Although I think it's also a sorority, not that I'd know anything about them. Or maybe it's a nursing society? Something girly."

She undoes the double row of buttons on her trench and shrugs out of it, draping it over one arm. Underneath, she's wearing a spaghetti strapped black shift dress that's utterly unsuitable to the weather and which fails to cover her bright red bra straps. She needs to update her wardrobe.

She looks over at the font, wrinkling her nose in consideration - would italicier be better? No, probably not. Bolder? Maybe...

But no. "Nope, I think I like that," she tells Altan. "And I was thinking here," she indicates a point high on her right shoulder blade. She remembers reading once where it hurts most, but whether shoulderblades were high or low on the list escapes her. She doesn't really care, anyway. She'd like to think she's got a high pain threshold, and anyway - it can't hurt more then the one on her foot.

"Thanks. Stephen's tattoo took forver but, damn did it look amazing." Her lips flickered into an impish smirk.

"I definitely remember Stephen had that somewhere that tended to not be noticeable to the majority of the public. Did you and he...?" She trailed off as she walked over to the sink; she placed her hands under the automatic soap dispenser and then under the faucet. She pressed a foot pump to cause the water to start spilling forward on to her hands as she began scrubbing. She left it open ended so that Diane could start gossiping with her if she felt like it. As much as Diane looked like the kind of girl that was super withdrawn Altan knew that secretly almost every person alive loved to talk.

After her hands had been thoroughly sanitized she placed on a pair of latex gloves on and transfered the lettering on Diane's back in the appropriated area.

"Is that right?" She asked handing her a hand held mirror so she could user her reflection to look in the reflection of the full length mirror and see the placing. It was a concept that was familiar with people (read: girls) who had to check the back of their head to see how their hair was.

"What color would you want? Standard black or are you feeling adventurous? Or is there some sort of shading you want?"

Just because Diane is constantly wearing black (and then some more black, and a little more black) doesn't mean that she can't talk endlessly to damn near anyone. She may generally get stuck as a goth, but she's a very chatty, friendly goth.

"It was perfectly innocent," she insists, checking the mirror to have a look at the lettering. "We were... Well, I can't remember how it came up. Maybe we were talking about mermaids or something... " It was possible. There was no reason they couldn't have been talking about mermaids, after all. Mermaids were cool. "But he honestly did just want to show me the tattoo. Or that was his excuse." It just started getting out of hand after that. Vodka and stripping were never a safe combination, if one was removing one's clothing purely for artistic purposes.

"That looks good," she tells Altan. "I dunno, I kind of fancy blue..." She just always associates blue with the Doctor. It's presumably the box that does it. "But colour doesn't go so well with me, does it?"

She's got red, red lips and red hair and red lingerie. Sometimes red nails, but that's it. Just those bright flashes. Glitches in the monochrome.

"He is quite all right, isn't he?" She adds, meaning that Stephen's not too hard on the eyes.

"Color goes with you. Color goes with everyone. You're wearing a red bra aren't you? See? That's color." She smiled as she indicated the chair for Diane to sit on.

"You can either lay down on your stomach or sit up. If you sit up you won't have any back support, but it really won't take that long." She knelt next to her tattoo machine and glanced at the inks. There were some very beautiful colors of blue ranging from the lightest of sky blue to a dark navy and all the ones in between. She pulled out a few of the bottles of color to show her.

"They'd look so pretty on your skin tone, are you sure you want black?" Her lips flicked up into a knowing grin.

"You are so right about Stephen though. I had him in for a chest piece about two weeks ago. He has the most amazing stomach... Right sorry. We're talking about your tattoo. I get rather easily distracted some times."

Diane can't really deny that red is a colour. It's pretty official. And of course she's not sure she wants black, because really she wants blue. But c'mon, blue? Blue doesn't really go with the general scheme of Diane, does it?

She sits in the chair indicated and has a look at the colours that Altan is showing her. They're very tempting. After a year or so of wearing black, you start lusting after colours. They seem so rich, so seductive and are so very, very tempting. Diane can resist everything except temptation. She lays a chipped fingernail on the bottle containing almost the darkest blue. "What d'ya think of this one," she asks Altan.

"Yeah, I saw that one too," she admits - switching back to Stephen. "Very nice. He is rather distracting, isn't he? But it must be nice to do work on him... I mean, besides the obvious reasons, you get to know he's a walking, talking advertisement to every girl in the city."

"Yeah." she says with a laugh, "All the pretty girls around town… And you know how guys are so I'm pretty sure he is a walking advertisement for everyone. I'm fairly certain some people are allergic to clothing." She adds with a sly grin. She stays kneeling on the ground and holds up another bottle that is a lighter color than the ink Di picked. It's a blue that does not make any attempts to be something it knows it's not. It doesn't try to pass itself off as black. It's a very pretty shade of blue.

Atlan has been doing this job since she turned eighteen and has been hanging out in this tattoo parlor even longer than that. She knows what looks good on people and she knows that this color would look amazing on Diane's skin. She just needs to convince Diane.

"You know what? I will take ten dollars off the price of your tattoo if you use this color. I've been working here for a long time and I know what looks good. This is a color that will look great on you."

"Their own clothes and everyone else's," she agrees. She would like to protest that she's not a pretty girl, but she doesn't like to sound self-pitying, so she doesn't. Glancing down at the new shade of blue - and it really is a prettier colour - she grins at Altan. "You're trying to lead me astray," she says. Not that there's anything really sinful about colour. She isn't a nun or anything, after all. But it always feels forbidden. It's probably just force of habit. "I do already have two black ones..."

Any discount is tempting, of course. She really can't afford to frivolously spend money. After all, there are awkward things like gas bills to be paid and jumpers to be bought. And she really should invest in some weather stripping for the windows. Ontario winter is looming, cold, miserable and expensive.

She relents, suspecting that she's a pushover. "All right. I'll trust you."

"Hah," she snorts with a reluctant smile. "I'm fairly allergic to shoes myself. I'm surprised that I still have them on actually, considering how I was left alone to my own devices. I do have a very bad habit of losing my clothing. I'm not an exhibitionist or anything..." She assures as she stands up and starts readying the equipment using the prettier color. After she finished preparing the equipment she takes off her gloves and puts on another.

"Okay, so you said this isn't your first. Let me guess the other two.... You seem like a girl that's read Gaiman. So I'll say Death's Ankh somewhere on you... and a celtic knot?" She shrugged on the second one seeming not as certain.

"I've got Delirium's fish on me actually." She held the tattoo gun in her hand and waited for Diane to respond before she started the tattoo.

"Clothing's so easy to lose. It just happens," she points out, grinning. "Mind, I've really got to stop misplacing it or I'll be completely broke."


"Oooh, Del's fish?" Diane is clearly delighted with that idea. "That's zen. And Delirium's so adorable. I never thought of that. But yeah. Death's Ankh, here," she leans forward to rest a hand in the small of her back, "'cause I'm cliche like that. I kind of want something Morpheus, but the helmet really isn't such a picturesque symbol. And then there's, like, a trail of stars across my foot. That one was my first one. Fifteenth birthday present from my mum. Not a particularly thoughtful one, but it's kind of pretty. It's always fun to be totally frivolous."

The ankh is of some sentimental value, and therefore not frivolous. Every kid who got through their teenage years on the strength of Neil Gaiman's writing can assure you that it's deadly serious.

"I know. I would not get the helmet. Maybe his sandbag or that ruby? It's been a couple years since I read the comics though... The helmet is not something I would recommend; it's just not nearly pretty enough. And I do love pretty things." Altan started the tattoo gun and began talking over the loud hum of the machine. The blue color was going to look great.

"I want a pretty frivolous one, but I get the idea and I sketch it out. And then I realize I don't trust anyone else to do it for me. I can just tell when someone isn't as good as me and I would hate for them to fuck it up. Okay, I'm starting now, so brace yourself if you need to." She shakes her head before she places the vibrating needle against the flesh of Diane and begins to do her job. She has done it so many times before that she can easily carry on a conversation, but some clients prefer silence during the ordeal. If they continue the conversation it means they want to keep talking.

"Yeah, I'll think of something eventually," Diane says. "Maybe a quote. There's a good I can't quite remember about nightmares, that goes with the Corinthian... But what I really want - just can't afford just yet - is Aragorn's crest. Like, the tree and the stars. I think that would be excellent. Not quite sure where, though." It would go well on stomach of someone a good deal skinnier then her. "It would be pretty, I think. Delicate."

Diane, also, is inordinately fond of pretty things. And shiny things. You might not realise it from her frequently tasteless and generally light-absorbing style of dress, but it is the case.

And she can't keep her bloody mouth shut, so she goes right on talking. "What is it," she asks, curiously. "I'm sure there must be someone who can do it almost as well as you could. Maybe not here, but you could always pop over to Montreal or Ottawa."

"Oh I know there are people quite a bit better than me all around. Just not quite in this city. Don't get me wrong the artists here are amazing, but we all specialize in certain areas and I would want a tattoo in my specialization. Like Mario does portraits and Justin does a lot of the lettering when it comes to names and stuff... Yeah I'll probably go to another city to get it done." Altan is focusing on the curves of the letters and shading them in.

"Well it could be a good chest piece on a guy, but you actually have boobs, unlike me, so it's not that great of an option for you. It would be too small on your arms or legs I bet... I don't recommend stomachs on girls, unless you are absolutely certain you aren't going to get pregnant.. If I were you I'd get it across my back. So you should probably save as much room as you can.." she lifts the needle to wipe away at the excess ink. The first Greek letter is done so she moves on to the next one.

"The color is looking great here."

"Montreal is incredible for everything," Diane suggests, "I mean, not to diss Ottawa... Ottawa's great. But any excuse you can get up to go to Montreal is worth it. Great shopping and really excellent noodles, too. Well, actually, it's a bad place to go if you're on a diet. Bagels and smoked meat and French pastries and all that good stuff. Which you surely wouldn't need to worry about," she adds, grinning. Altan's got a brilliant figure that Diane is just a bit envious of. Not even to go into Altan's hair, which is shiny and nice and not dead from over treatment.

"I'm not entirely sure how much stuff I can stick on my back without looking like a cluttered poster board," she points out. "I mean, there's plenty of space but things always start looking crowded long before they actually are. I could just get a boyfriend and make him have it done, of course. That could also work." She's joking, of course. But only because she doesn't think that finding a steady boyfriend is likely. If she had one, she'd totally do just that.

"And if you break up with that boyfriend would you make the next one get it?" She adds with a laugh, periodically wiping away the excess ink as she shades in the next letter, "Well it'll be an easy way for me of identifying your boyfriends." Altan smiles.

"Actually I'd love to go visit California again. San Fransisco and Berkeley are supposed to have some really skilled artists." She smirks as she fills in the second letter.

"Amsterdam actually has some really skilled artist, along with Germany. I can't wait to go traveling again, but I need to get my degree and get into graduate school. There's so much to do and not nearly enough money."

"Exactly," Diane agrees, cheerfully. "And you'll know to stay away from them all as they'll all be horribly damaged goods. But also gorgeous and sweet and witty and all that good stuff." She's got good taste in guys, at least.

"How's California? I've never been. But I guess I'm not so much of a West-Coast person. I used to go to B.C. all the time and it sort of wore on me." She sighs, exaggeratedly and then grins. "You're terribly enviable. Decent job, actually been places, beautiful and going to university. Honestly, you put me to shame. What are you studying?"

"California is nice. It's kind of its own country though. I've been to a few other states and California.. just has its own vibe."

Altan laughs when Diane calls her pretty and shakes her head; the faintest of blushes sweeps over her freckled cheeks. She doesn't bother protesting, because it just makes people look ungrateful. So instead she mumbles a quiet 'thank you' as she finishes up the tattoo and places the tattoo gun down. Taking a paper towel she wipes off the excess ink and the tattoo is now perfectly visible to Altan.

"Done." She mumbles and stands up to take off her gloves and wash her hands.

"I'm going a double major in history and political science. If I could get a job other than teaching with a history major I would have done it, but I love it so much I felt the need to take classes. I'm hoping to be a lawyer. I'm not sure how it'll all work out, but I'll see." She takes a paper towel and dries her hands before tossing it in the trashcan.

"What are you majoring in?" Altan grabs the mirror from earlier and offers it to Diane so she can see the finished tattoo. The skin is irritated and red around the new lettering, but that is to be expected.

"I'll give you a bandage, keep it on for a couple of hours and remember to- oh you've already had two, you know what to do to keep it healthy."

"A lawyer," Diane says, raising one black eyebrow. Altan doesn't look like your stereotypical lawyer. But then, people are always surprising you. "Cool," she says. It's not entirely sincere - she automatically mistrusts lawyers and really wouldn't like to be one - but for Altan, it can be cool. Diane isn't going to try and stick her own point of view on the situation. She accepts the mirror and glances in it, wincing slightly at the pudginess of her shoulder blade but then smiling at the tattoo. "It's lovely," she tells Altan. "A worthy tribute to my undying love."

Both eyebrows go up when she's asked what she's majoring in, and she laughs. "Me? I don't go to school. I'm a working girl... Working at Loblaw's, that is. And man, have you seen the blouses they make you wear?" She wrinkles her nose. "Green. And really unattractive. They do horrors to anyone's figure, never mind mine."

She slides off the chair, setting the mirror down on it and reaching to pick up her jacket. It's fallen to the floor in a black slump, and she shakes it out a little. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh? Really... I just assume anyone over eighteen is going to school here, because it's a university town and everything..." Altan smiles and brushes some of the falling fauxhawk back up.

"Oh yeah. I shop there. They are pretty horrible shirts. They'd make what little chest I have completely invisible. I lifeguarded and taught swim lessons when I was fifteen 'till I turned eighteen. We had to wear these ugly swim suits that would squash down your chest and accentuate your stomach. I swear I looked pregnant every time I had to wear that thing." She laughs and rubs at her neck.

"You know what? It's on the house. You were fun to talk to. It's not like I was doing anything productive before you came in."

"Nope, I just fail on the whole money thing, and the whole highschool diploma thing. I was like, one credit short to graduate. So I'm just hanging around doing the hand-to-mouth thing." She grins, because she knows it's sad and pathetic and stupid and that she's going to end up wearing that horrible green blouse until she's ancient.

"I bet you'll see me there," she tells Altan, "now you know who I am. It'll be very embarrassing and you'll get to laugh at my horrific shirt and that fact that I'm stuck scanning No Name canned soup and shelving packs of peanuts."

She looks like she's almost going to disagree with Altan's offer - it's the right thing to do, probably. But she doesn't consider it to be a polite thing to do, so she just smiles slyly. "Well... if I was so much fun to talk to, we should go out to lunch sometime. On me."

"Lunch? Really?" Altan asks with a smile. It's a rhetorical question so she just shakes her head and laughs as she walks over to the counter and writes down her cellphone number on a piece of the tracing paper.

She offers the paper to Diane with a large grin.

"Here's my number. Give me a call or a text. It was really nice meeting you."

Diane pulls on her coat and does up the zip and buttons. "It'll be fun," she assures Altan, taking the number and pocketing it with a prayer that it doesn't disappear forever into the depths of her coat. Sometimes she thinks she has Time Lord pockets, the way stuff goes missing.

Pushing open the door with a jingling of the bells, she turns back. "I'll call. And thanks a million. It's great."

Then she steps out and lets the door close.