AWD #080: Trojan Tattooed

Diomedes begins work on Sera's new Tattoo

Trojan Tattooed
Summary: Diomedes begins work on Sera's Tattoo
Date: 27/3/2013
Related Logs: None
Sera Diomedes 
Naval Enlisted Berthings
Housing a couple thousand naval personnel is never easy, but the fleet has managed for many decades. The enlisted barracks are divided up into sixty-bunk berthings and spread out across Deck Three. Each bunk has a small blue privacy curtain to keep out the light and prying eyes, but at least each individual has their own space. The drawers beneath each bunk and the lockers provide additional storage space. Between each stack of bunks is a single table that comprises a single section, each barracks holding five sections that are divided by thin bulkheads.
AWD #80

Another long day of work on deck had passed- Diomedes just chilling in his bunk with the healing wound on his side. Stir crazy, he'd taken to drawing in his portfolio of various tattoo designs. His pen slid and scratched across the paper, digging in and leaving ink behind just as he would with his tattoo gun, or the more traditional wood and metal stylus of Tauron design. With the recent knowledge that the ship might be crawling with Skinjobs, Dio's art had taken a certain mechanical turn. A man, and a woman holding mechanical hands, removing their skin to show machine-monster's underneath. Both, walking on the bones of humans and a shadow of Orion itself broken into pieces behind the two.

With the heaviness of her steel-toed safety boots, Sera's footsteps really ought to thud heavily against the cold metal flooring of the barracks. But then again, she's a small thing, despite spending more than a decade working a military deck. Maybe that explains how she can so suddenly appear leaning against his locker, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes casually inspecting his page from over his shoulder. "Well. That's about as a cheerful as a morgue."

"Well." Dio began, "We've got a couple of skinjobs being protected by the Old Man. This is the logical conclusion." he offers to Sera quietly, as he straightens himself and looks over to her. "How long you been sittin' there?" he asks, eyes narrowing a bit.

"Not very long," she says, reaching up to brush her bangs back from her eyes with her bruised hand. It's a useless gesture. They just fall right back into place. She shoves her tongue into the corner of her mouth, making a lump, staring at his page contemplatively for a few seconds more. Eventually, she just blurts out, "I brought you something."

Diomedes blinks once, twice, looking up towards Sera now as she speaks again. "Did you?" he asks as he shifts on his bunk and nods towards it. "If you got time, we can start on that Tat, if you'd like. It'll give me something to do." he says with a bit of a smile- a light, barely there kind of thing. An invite.

"That's what I brought," she says. "Payment." One hand — the left one, the good one for now — slides into the pocket of her hoodie. Out comes a whole pack of cigarettes, still in their smooth, shiny plastic. They'll still smell fresh, when opened. Of course, they're not very good cigarettes. It seems that she prefers the cheap kind with thick could-choke-an-elephant smoke to them. Flavorful, some people might call it. "I figured that since you're bleedin' all over your sheets anyway, I wouldn't have to feel bad about ruinin' 'em."

"Thanks." Dio said, as he took the cigarettes and began to strike the pack against the heel of his hand. Three or four times its struck before he opens the fresh pack and offers a cigarette to Sera. "Well, get seated and lets see where you want that Trojan Warrioress to go." he says, as he turns to take his tat gun from its place on his shelf. He moves a couple of books- an electrical connection hidden there behind them. He connects it, and then moves to his locker, unlocking the thing to grab some ink. Its locked tight there- Tattoo ink isn't exactly all over the place. One might even wonder how he's been giving out so many tattoos, with what must be a limited supply.

She pulls out two cigarettes, not one, and pinches them both between her lips. There's the flash of light reflecting off metal — a common enough sight on a battlestar — and then her lighter flicks to life in her hand. Both cigarettes are lit, a drag drawn off them to make sure she's got two good cherries going, before she pinches one between her fingers and holds out it to Dio. "Here, maybe," she says, holding up her left arm, the inside of her forearm exposed. "What do you think?"

Taking the offered cigarette, Dio inhales. A slow, long pull as the cherry burns bright. "That should work." he comments, after a moment of looking at the woman's arm. A roll of thick deck paper towels are drawn out from under his pillow, and a few sheets pulled free. The cigarette now hanging from the side of his mouth as he primes the tattoo gun and nods to himself. "Inside the forearm is sensitive. Don't you start crying on me." he teases, as he takes his pillow, sets it on his lap- and slides back to lean against the wall of his rack. "Settle in. We'll start with the outline."

The end of the cigarette tastes just like peaches. It's probably that shiny goop she's always wearing on her mouth, even on the deck. Because that's totally an appropriate place to even try wearing makeup. "I know it's goin' to hurt," she says quietly as she sinks down into a seat in his bunk, preferring to wiggle her way into one of the inside corners rather than stretch out. "I want it to. That's part of the point, ain't it? The catharsis. The reminder that there ain't nothin' in this world worth havin' that doesn't end up hurtin' in some way or another — from the effort, or when it catches up with you in the end."

Its not an all-together unpleasing taste, peaches and fumerella. "I like it, personally." Dio comments as he takes Sera's arm and places it where he needs on the pillow, the thick paper towels now under her arm. Another pile in hand- first, he wipes clean the area of her forearm, then the needle and gun are pressed in place, a buzzing heard while he starts to slowly drag it across the PO's arm- a thin black line following that soon was bleeding. Again, her arm is cleaned- a dabbing motion instead of a wipe.

Sera curls her lips back for a second, sucking a hiss of air in between her teeth. All while trying not to drop her cigarette on his bed. Thin, delicate skin. Veins so close to the surface they can still be seen, even through her tan. Yeah, this is going to hurt. Yeah, she's going to bleed. Her nostrils flare as that buzzing pain shoots up her arm and burrows way back into the primitive parts of brain — the lizard brain, that screams fight or flight. She doesn't move, though. Or complain. She just makes that awful face.

"Keep your mind on who this is for. What it means. This Trojan warrior, she is bloodied. Her armor is broken, but she remains unbowed. She remains haunted by the past, but looks forward with a tear and a smile." Dio says softly, just speaking as the girl tightens with pain. "Let it flow. The pain is cleansing, just relax and let it flow through your arm, up into your heart. Let it break the shell, just like a seed breaks so it can feel the star light." The tattoo's outline begins to form into something obvious- the outlines of that cracked but unbroken armor. The dreamy-face of the Trojan woman barely there.

"I thought there weren't any flowers on Tauron," she croaks out, her voice hoarse for only a moment. "They always said there weren't ever any flowers on Tauron — none at all." She leans back into the corner, resting her head against his shelf, her eyes drifting closed. She tries not to move her arm in the process, lest she inadvertently end up with a squiggly line trailing up to her elbow.

"Doesn't change the nature of pain, a lack of flowers." Dio remarks quietly. "Or, what it does for a soul." The buzzing of the tattoo gun seems to ring around the dormitory- a soft almost ringing sound as it continues to drag along Sera's inner arm. Again, its lifted- and blood is mopped up with those absorbent towels, before its unceremoniously tossed to the floor to be cleaned later. "Anyways, you've been carrying a lot of pain- just let it flow." he says, as he continues the work of setting the outline up. Its even starting to look like something familiar.

Sera flexes the fingers of her left arm, curling them and then stretching them back out again. The skin shift subtley underneath his needle as she does. "You should've been a priest, instead of an airframe mechanic," she says quietly. Her voice is slowly slipping off into that quiet, dreamy state of someone slipping into the ecstasy of a undeniable feeling, of and experience that, whether pleasurable or painful, is at least unquestionably real.

"I don't think Priests can be former thieves and gangsters." Dio says with a quiet smile, as he finishes up the outline of the tattoo- it takes up a good deal of her forearm. "I did a lot of bad things in my younger days. Hurt people. Stole from people. Generally, I was what they called a bad kid." he just talks, now- keeping Sera's attention off her bloody, inked arm. Once again, he dabs with those towels- cleaning away the blood. The blood gone, all that is left is the outline of Sera's Trojan warrioress. "How you doing?"

"I'm alive," she murmurs. "It's a start." She reaches up with her bruised hand to rub at her eyes for a second. Clearly, she didn't think this through. Bruises on hand. A fresh tattoo all over her other arm. How is she going to be at all useful on the deck? "You might be surprised. About priests, I mean. They're not all what you think. Right across the hall, there's an enlisted Marine by the name of Judah Hook. He's an annointed priest of Ares. The Navy refused to recognize the school that ordained him on Gemenon. Too conservative, too controversial. CMES wouldn't take him. So he enlisted, and now he delivers the sermons of Ares with the heel of his boot. He's a good a man, and not at all what you think of, when you think of priests." A pause. "Just don't tell him I sent you, if you go see him."

"Its going to be sore." Dio said as he dabbed that arm once more. He then grabs some plastic wrap- likely pilfered from the mess- and wraps Sera's arm tightly. "Keep that on a few days." he says. "Its going to scab up, and get itchy. Don't itch it." BAsic advice from a Tattoo artist. "We'll do the shading next time." he says, "And any touch up that needs to be done." He just smiles at the bit about a priest of Ares. "I still don't think I'd have what it takes to be a priest there, Sera. I've got to many carnal ideas." he winks, as he pulls the now somewhat blood-spotted pillowcase off the pillow, shoving the thing back at the head of his bed. The tattoo gun is turned off, and the ink removed and returned to the locker.

"….The reason I said not to tell him I sent you was because I broke his heart right before War Day," she says, her eyes — which are still shut — squeezing down tight with a rush of guilt as she says that. "How was I supposed to know?" And then, quieter. "How was I supposed to know." She sighs, very slowly, before peeling her eyes open. Her long-forgotten cigarette has burned down to a column of ash, which she carefully flicks out into the aisle — right onto the floor — to avoid making any more of a mess of his sheets. "Thank you," she says, before even having looked.

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