Post by Holden Ross on Jul 14, 2020 20:44:24 GMT -5
The high pitched, unmistakable drone of a tattoo machine is the main soundtrack in the apartment of Holden Ross. In the background, the sound of machinegun fire and explosions mingle with the cheers and exclamations of excitement or anger as two men play “Call of Duty: SomethingorOther" as well as the soft, steady thump of bass from Maria's apartment next door. No, not hip-hop or rap but, rather, Vincente Fernandez, a God in Mexico. Holden often hears both Maria and Cesar singing along with the old records she plays.
Holden sits in a wooden, low backed kitchen chair he purchased from a sale taking place in a driveway up the street. His arms are crossed on top of the backrest and his chin rests on his arms while his tattoo artist works her magic. She is currently shading a mound of skulls on his left trapezius to add to the scene that has blanketed his left arm, shoulder, and left pectoral. Demons fighting, and winning (for the most part) against a militia comprised of Angel’s and humans. The “Pièce de Résistance,” if you will, is going to be a large portrait of the demon, Bael, on his back, gleefully leering at the death and destruction before him. His eyes are at half mast; almost as if he were unaware of the pain being inflicted upon him. One of the men playing the game yells “Bullshit!” and slugs the other man in the arm.
He is brought out of his trace by the buzzing and vibrating of his phone. Its screen erupts into life as a picture of Tabitha shows him who is calling. He hasn’t heard from her in quite some time (and has forgotten drunk dialing her during a blackout the night before). He sighs and mute the ringtone to let it go to voicemail. The machine stops whirring and her voice, silky and barely above a whisper, fills his left ear and gives him goosebumps.
“Trouble in paradise?” and doesn’t wait for an answer to continue drilling.
“We've been over for awhile….. Paradise was just a weekend visit for us….” Is his reply over his shoulder before lighting a blunt. From the couch, the man who got punched pumps a fist, holding a Playstation controller, into the air while exclaiming “I told you, BITCH!” and both men erupt into laughter. Pandora, as she is known, has been tattooing for fifteen years, and, yet, she is barely twenty-eight. She smirks as he sucks a breath in through clenched teeth. She had been drilling on him for almost 2 hours now and the pain is starting to wear on him.
“This is going to be so dope…” she purrs while pausing the drilling to dip the needle in some ink.
“With you doing it, I have no doubt, lady..” is all he replies. His mind drifts off to his match this week and he quickly shoves that thought aside. He already can feel the irritation building as he thinks about P.C.W.
“You want me to keep going?” she asks with the needle shoving just above her handiwork.
“Don’t stop till I tap out…” he says with a chuckle.
“Remember that later…” she whispers into his ear before biting his earlobe. Before he can respond, the machine returns to buzzing and she continues her craft. As she continues, Holden mulls over his future in P.C.W. and his place in it….
Holden sits in a wooden, low backed kitchen chair he purchased from a sale taking place in a driveway up the street. His arms are crossed on top of the backrest and his chin rests on his arms while his tattoo artist works her magic. She is currently shading a mound of skulls on his left trapezius to add to the scene that has blanketed his left arm, shoulder, and left pectoral. Demons fighting, and winning (for the most part) against a militia comprised of Angel’s and humans. The “Pièce de Résistance,” if you will, is going to be a large portrait of the demon, Bael, on his back, gleefully leering at the death and destruction before him. His eyes are at half mast; almost as if he were unaware of the pain being inflicted upon him. One of the men playing the game yells “Bullshit!” and slugs the other man in the arm.
He is brought out of his trace by the buzzing and vibrating of his phone. Its screen erupts into life as a picture of Tabitha shows him who is calling. He hasn’t heard from her in quite some time (and has forgotten drunk dialing her during a blackout the night before). He sighs and mute the ringtone to let it go to voicemail. The machine stops whirring and her voice, silky and barely above a whisper, fills his left ear and gives him goosebumps.
“Trouble in paradise?” and doesn’t wait for an answer to continue drilling.
“We've been over for awhile….. Paradise was just a weekend visit for us….” Is his reply over his shoulder before lighting a blunt. From the couch, the man who got punched pumps a fist, holding a Playstation controller, into the air while exclaiming “I told you, BITCH!” and both men erupt into laughter. Pandora, as she is known, has been tattooing for fifteen years, and, yet, she is barely twenty-eight. She smirks as he sucks a breath in through clenched teeth. She had been drilling on him for almost 2 hours now and the pain is starting to wear on him.
“This is going to be so dope…” she purrs while pausing the drilling to dip the needle in some ink.
“With you doing it, I have no doubt, lady..” is all he replies. His mind drifts off to his match this week and he quickly shoves that thought aside. He already can feel the irritation building as he thinks about P.C.W.
“You want me to keep going?” she asks with the needle shoving just above her handiwork.
“Don’t stop till I tap out…” he says with a chuckle.
“Remember that later…” she whispers into his ear before biting his earlobe. Before he can respond, the machine returns to buzzing and she continues her craft. As she continues, Holden mulls over his future in P.C.W. and his place in it….