Flames And Blades

Chapter Thirteen: All The Small Things

 I, again wake up with Warrisons Jacket around me, except I had originally fallen asleep wearing it. This time with someone drawing, more like engraving my left forearm.

"Um, Ow!?" Luce doesn't even look up. She just stares at Connie, willing her to hold me down even tighter. She's tattooing the part of the arm that has just barely healed over from the car crash and it kind of hurts like a bitch. This is just one more thing that is going to have to be left out of my transcripts. Right up there with 'has anger issues that can cause unknown events of danger' and 'is boring enough to make souls fall asleep'.

After another twenty minutes of her jabbing some inky thing that I don't even look at for the sake of health codes she was probably breaking, she gives me my arm back. I look down, and it's actually pretty badass. A backwards, sharply angled three, with two parallel lines going vertically across the corners, one shorter than the other, leading to a small plus sign on the center corner. It's about three inches long and two wide, dead center on my forearm. It was just freshly done so the swelling was there, but if I looked closely, I swear I could see a red cloud pulsing through it. "Where did you guys get the idea to give tats from?"

"Warrison has a Netflix-meets-library-meets-branding problem. We have bracelets and T-shirts for most people, but I like stabbing things repeatedly, so I did. Your welcome."

"Oh, okay, that's new." Well, I'm not getting locked in a room with her alone from now on. Getting up for the day, I wonder again how my jacket came off when I went to bed with it on. I must have taken it off in my sleep. Rolling my neck, just behind my right ear burning the whole time. Just like my arm where the tattoo is. Finally standing up, I put the jacket on, enjoying the scent and warmth through the foggy weather. I head to the car to check on my phone for any charge.

Stepping out of the tent only to see Warrison and Adam already there. Warrison holding coffee for the two of us, and Adam holding my phone. I have no clue what the two of them are up to, but we need to head out so I take both the coffee and my message less phone, nodding thanks than sitting shotgun. When Adam goes to argue, I simply say "Ladies first." and fake a curtsey. Really, all I want to do is put on the oldies station and not fall asleep this time. Specifically since my inner control freak has moved on from driving problems and on to other things, like, for example, anger issues.

"So what made you come up with these design anyways?" We had been in the car for thirty minutes and Warrison hadn't spoken much, I lifted his jacket to show him my fresh tattoo. His eyes glance at it, brows raising in shock and a look of something else that I can't quite catch.

"The tattoo part was for me because I thought it would make me stick out in some stupid way. I have all four, they're some stupid designs I was supposed to make with the intentions of logos for my father's weaponry branding, but he hated them and I thought, at the time that they were epic, so.." He keeps one hand on the wheel and rubs his sleeve along his thigh, the catching of the two rolling the sleeve up to his forearm. Revealing four different symbols that are what I always saw familiarly at the camps.

"You rebelled and got them all tattooed." I finish, staring, and stifle a giggle at his stupidity. He nods and returns his hand to the wheel.

"And then this load of a guy copies me and someone copied him and so on until it became a thing. A very permanent thing." He says, pointing to Adam like he was scolding a lost puppy, attempting to be mad but failing miserably.

"Well, I like mine. It gives me an edge."

"Honey so does your satanic rage." Adam has a point, so I just shrug, not denying anything, and then continue to scream with him to the chorus of Bennie and the Jets. Warrison rolling his eyes, but head bopping nonetheless.

When we arrive at the trail, the symbols appear instantly. Taking it as a symbol, since only specific trees are marked this time, bouncing forward each time we reach them, we use them as a map.

Finally, all three of us reach a clearing in the forest. The trees formed a perfect circle, with a small cottage right in the center. There, at the doorway, waiting for us, was a woman that I swear could have been a goddess, beside her with her smirk as daring as ever; my grandmother. Timing and appearances seemed to be a specific talent of hers that carried on in all the best ways.