Like Real People Do [🗸]

03. cabernet

At the crack of dawn, I'm out of the dorm before my roommate is up. The sky is a burning orange, so vibrant I can taste it. 

Outside, the wind runs through my hair that my mother so desperately wants me to cut, and I allow it to. Leaves fall past me, on me, around me. Autumn is alive, squirrels slipping all about campus. 

By the time I enter the tattoo parlor, Rayne is already ready for me. I made the error of telling Rayne I had no morning classes and they promptly scheduled me to start apprenticing today. 

Thus, at 7 a.m., the tattoo parlor, dubbed Ink Addicts according to the front sign that I caught wind of today. Ink Addicts, likely the most stereotypical name for a tattoo parlor in the history of stereotypical names for tattoo parlors. 

No sooner have I entered the parlor have I learned how to operate the equipment - not on people, however, seeing as Rayne has exactly zero faith in me at the moment, but they trust that I'll "get there". That being said, the tasks Rayne has laid out for me are admittedly, not as unbearable as I thought they would be.

I spend an entire hour making designs as Rayne looks over my shoulder, humming like some old rich asshole who is appraising an item at an auction.

Esther drops in by lunch with Thai. We break for lunch and sit around a little desk that Rayne has reserved for their lunch break. The desk completely belongs to Rayne, from the little post-its to the full sketchbooks, pages ripped out, others stained. There's a chessboard design peeking out of one of their notebooks, polaroid pictures pinned to a bulletin board.

There's barely enough room, so we're all just pressed against each other's sides, cramming into the spaces like we're at the kid's table at family gatherings.

The door swings open and Rayne calls out "lunch break!" only for their lips to break out into a grin as someone approaches. 

"Performing arts here is intense as fuck!" The person calls out. They're in a tank and sweatpants, long black hair pulled into twin braids. They settle down next to Rayne, pulling out a sandwich. "I think not getting into Juilliard was a blessing in disguise. And I'm only doing it as a minor, like, holy shit."

They pause, mid-meal to look up at me. I offer a salute. "Ah, who's this?" The person says, turning to Rayne.  

"Kieran," I say, outstretching a hand that the person takes.

"My apprentice," Rayne says. 

"Kieran, you're going to have to start calling them mentor real soon." Esther glances at me through her pocket mirror, applying a layer of lip gloss.

I snort and the person with the twin braids glances my way.

"Silvia!" A wave. "I know Rayne and Esther from high school. We were friends."

"Well, actually," Rayne says. "Esther and Silvia were friends. Silvia and I were more so mortal enemies."

Silvia coughs on her spit.