Exulansis [h.s]

Chapter 1

Narrator

Smoke and fog filled the air of the streetside tattoo parlor. Located in the city of London, there stood a small shop, with blazing red and white LED lights outlining the name 'Empire Ink'. There were about as many posters of any band, designs, and vintage cars inside the shop as there were stars in the sky.

It was almost as if it was meant to be polluted.

Although, in such a way that would keep its customers coming back. Well, we all have something we are addicted to, right?

As the sound of needles creeping in and out of bare skin was buzzing around, the door to the parlor was suddenly opened and a man, with dark curly brown hair, the height of 6ft, bags under the eyes, almost as if he hadn't slept in weeks and flashing green eyes that appeared close to black at the moment when he walked in. The second he entered, the unanticipated sound of hard rock music overtook the ones of the needles.

"Ah! Back already?" asked another man who had emerged from a counter which was ironic that it had one since the place was so small. The man was tall, almost 6'2 had jet black hair, and a body that had been covered in drunk beautiful markings.

"You know it, Drew. How long do you think I would've lasted without getting one?" He smirks in humor and lays down on the ink bed with his head on the pillow so his collarbone would be the canvas today. "On the bone and this time I want to get something different done".

Andrew simply nods and goes to a different table to pick up a big book. The book's covers were covered in thick plastic and probably had two thousand pieces of both small and massive artwork that had been printed on at least one person's body. When he lifted the book, the veins in his hand seemed more significant than ever and the wristbands had created a slight gap between his veins and the bands. He walked back to the seat and nudged the man to give him the book.

He looks up, and sits and shakes his head, "I said something different, Drew. Nothing from that ol' piece of trash." His thick British accent poked through his remark and this comment on Drew's 'precious' book seemed to annoy the artist and he rolled his sea-blue eyes almost like a silent 'fuck you to his canvas but they had known each other for long enough to not be offended by anything. "On the other hand, I have an idea in my head." He finished saying while chuckling.

His laugh. So mesmerising, if anyone could, they would preserve it in a museum.

"Ok then what do you want mate?" He questions in a tone that still carries a bit of displeasure in return to his friend's disrespectful comment on his binder. He couldn't be blamed though, that man loved that book more than humans love hurting people.

His parlor was started by his dad about 30 years ago and he was the one who combined the designs to make it into a volume, but since the designs inside it had gotten medieval, his customers now didn't always want it done.

"Numbers. Roman numbers and I want them horizontally. Twelve and fifteen with a dot between them." He says with a blank expression. Nothing on his face could give anything off, he always seemed so relaxed, like he had no care in the world. Drew lifts one of his eyebrows in question. He wasn't the type to get any numeric work done, it was mostly just random wonders of the world, not appreciated or particularly attractive to many people.

"Roman numbers? Mate what? You never get anything like that!" The surprise on his face was obvious.

"Mhmm, today I am and that's also the definition of different, Drew" He was starting to get agitated, he didn't want people asking what he does and why he does it, he didn't like to be asked about himself or why he was getting a normal fucking tattoo done. Everything is not meant to be that deep.