Chaos • TW [2]

[1]

...

"Boy, it's a good thing you drew me a picture," the tattoo artist mocked sarcastically as he looked at Scott's drawing of two lines.

Rose scoffed from the corner of the room, with her arms crossed and the typical unamused Hale expression painted on her face.

"I don't know Scott," Rose sighed looking down at the book of different tattoos, and pointed down at the one of a puppy, "I feel like this one would suit you quite well."

"Or what about something like this?" Stiles joked pointing down at a tattoo that resembled the Kanima perfectly.

Scott stared blankly at Stiles and didn't say anything.

"Too soon? Yeah," Stiles nodded.

"I'm not changing my mind," Scott said stubbornly.

"Okay, but why the two bands?"

"Yeah," Rose agreed with Stiles, "It seems a little boring to me."

"Says the girl who has a circle on her middle finger," Scott shot back.

Rose frowned angrily and flicked him off with her tattooed middle finger.

Rose had gotten that tattoo a few years ago. To her it symbolized a sort of cycle of life and death. Though it is simple, the circle is powerful, representing the cyclical nature of the universe and all life on earth.

"Don't you think your first tattoo should have some sort of meaning, you know, or something?" Stiles asked.

"Getting a tattoo does mean something," Scott deadpanned.

"I don't think that's-"

"He's right," the tattoo artist interrupted as he continued getting the needle ready, "Tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word 'tatua' means 'to leave a mark.' Like a rite to of passage."

Scott smiled, pleased by the tattoo artist defending him, "Yeah, you see? He gets it."

"He's covered in tattoos, Scott...literally." Stiles narrowed his eyes toward Scott while pointing to the man.

The tattoo artist then picked up his needle and then began moving it closer to Scott's arm.

"Okay, you ready?"

Scott nodded.

"You ain't got any problems with needles, do you?"

"Nope," he whispered, shaking his head and keeping his eyes focused on the wall ahead of him.

Stiles whose eyes were the size of saucers when he caught sight of the needle, nodded his head and rubbed his chin, "I do tend to get squeamish-"

Rose then jumped when she heard the sound of a body colliding with the floor. She looked down and saw Stiles laying there, out cold.