Chapter Text
Ori took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the tattoo shop. A loud bell jangled and the young man behind the counter glanced up briefly, then dropped his eyes back to his laptop somewhat dismissively.
He took a few steps into the shop. It was loud, with a strange high-pitched squealing buzz that he knew must be the tattoo machine coming from somewhere behind the folding screens set up beyond the counter. There were red vinyl-covered benches in the middle of the small waiting room, and the walls were lined with pages covered in bright imagery for the tattoo-ee to browse through--what Ori's careful research had told him was called "flash." The whole place smelled like disinfectant, which was encouraging, and incense, which was not.
Summoning his courage, Ori approached the counter. The young man there, a muscular white kid with his blond dreadlocks pulled back into a thick tail at the nape of his neck and his beard and mustache worn long and braided with beads, looked at him expectantly.
"I'd...uh...like a tattoo," Ori managed.
The blond kid cast an eye up and down Ori, taking him in. His expression was skeptical, but his voice seemed friendly enough when he said, "Yeah, Mister Dwalin's got a client right now. But he should be done in a bit if you wanna wait. $50 an hour, $50 minimum regardless of size. Just need your ID real quick. Got a design picked out?"
"Uh, some ideas," Ori hedged as he pulled out his license. It was only partly a lie. He wanted something tough and manly, like...like...a dragon, or something. Something Dori would hate. Really, Dori would hate any tattoo Ori got, but Ori really wanted to stick it to him.
"Check out the flash while you wait," the blond kid suggested, handing his license back. "Maybe narrow your ideas down."
Ori nodded and wandered over to the artwork-covered walls. He stared at the sheets of pin-up girls, roses, barbed-wire; sheets of panthers, wolves, and, yes, dragons. One sheet had a selection of flower or dagger-bedecked banners with "NAME HERE" filled in the blank space. Another held nothing but Japanese kanji symbols, most of which Ori was certain did not mean what the sheet claimed they meant. There were nautical-themed sheets, sheets covered in so-called "tribal" designs, sheets with flaming skulls and winged skulls and skulls with huge fangs.
None of this was right, none of it was what he really wanted. In fact, Ori was swiftly beginning to regret having come in here at all. The tattoo on that barista the other day had been so beautiful, elaborate, vividly-colored flowers and vines twining around her forearm and disappearing up under her sleeve. It had been like a painting, like something you'd see in a museum, but even more beautiful, somehow, for having been alive. Ori had commented on it to Dori and had been shocked and angry at his brother's reaction, though not really surprised, as such.
"Oh, dear," Dori had clucked. "She could have been so pretty if she'd just respected herself enough not to do that. Who will ever marry a girl like that now?"
Ori had stammered something about thinking the girl was still pretty, then blushed in silent fury when Dori started to tease him about having a crush on the tattooed barista.
"I do not have a crush on her," he'd snapped, finally. True enough; the girl was very pretty, objectively speaking, but Ori's tastes didn't run to girls. Another thing Dori wouldn't approve of, and thus didn't know.
"Quite right, too," Dori had answered, sniffing. "She's not our kind, really."
Then and there, Ori had sworn to himself to get a tattoo, something big and obvious, to show Dori just what kind Ori was!
But now, staring at a particularly tacky flash image of a skull that was both winged AND on fire, with staring red demon eyes as a bonus, Ori was definitely reconsidering. His internet searches had indicated that Lonely Mountain Ink was one of the best tattoo shops in town, but maybe he needed to do some more research first, or something. Yes, that was it. More research.
He was starting to work his way back to the door, hoping the blond kid wouldn't notice, when he suddenly realized that the buzzing whine of the tattoo machine had stopped some time ago. Ori looked to the back of the shop in time to see an older man with long dark hair, streaked with grey, coming around the folding screens. As he passed the counter, the blond kid looked up and said, "Back in a month for your next session, right Thorin?"
"That's right, Fili. Last session!" the man, Thorin, answered. "Last session till I start the next piece, that is!" They both laughed, and Thorin clapped the kid hard on the shoulder. "Say hi to your mom for me, huh?"
"Will do, Uncle," Fili said cheerfully.
Ori watched this easy family camaraderie with envy bitter on his tongue, still wavering near the door. The man, Thorin, smiled at him as he left the shop and Ori smiled back reflexively.
"Hey, Dwalin! You got another one waiting!" Fili shouted.
Ori looked up to see that the tattoo artist, Dwalin, had pushed back the folding screens, revealing his work station. Dwalin looked over and grunted in Fili's direction, then turned his attention back to what he'd been working on. Dwalin had a spray bottle of something Ori assumed was disinfectant in one hand and a wad of paper towel in the other and was busily and meticulously wiping down the chair his client had just vacated and the countertop behind him.
Ori watched him, fascinated. The artist was big and broad, his head shaved bald but his beard full. His gleaming head was covered in tattooed designs, and the tight sleeves of his tee-shirt rode up over his muscular arms to reveal more tattoos. Really, he was beautiful. Ori felt his cheeks flush, knowing he was staring and unable to stop himself.
Finally, the artist straightened up, throwing away his last wad of used paper towel. He turned, pulling his black latex gloves off with a snap and throwing them out as well, and met Ori's eyes across the shop.
"Come on back lad!" Dwalin called, and Ori found his feet obeying without his conscious will directing them.
Ori almost stumbled as he made his way into the artist's work area, but he managed to turn it into a controlled hop as he settled himself in the large chair. It was almost like a dentist's chair, he thought, but the sparkly red vinyl covering gave it an oddly soda-shop air.
"So," said Dwalin in a gruff but friendly voice. "What will it be for you?"
Ori stared at him for a long silent moment. Up close, he could see that Dwalin was older than him by ten years, maybe twelve, and his beard showed a few silvery streaks. The tattoos on the man's head were fascinating, not quite tribal but not quite Celtic, either. Ori couldn't quite place them and filed the designs away in his head for later research.
"Lad?" Dwalin prompted gently and Ori startled, flushing. He'd been staring again.
"Uh...well, I was thinking about...uh...." he trailed off.
Dwalin waited, watching him carefully. Ori knew what he saw: a slightly built young man, pale skinned with a dusting of freckles, crooked nose, $10 hair cut. An oversized nubby brown grandfather sweater, complete with leather elbow patches. Light-colored blue jeans with a crease down the leg, courtesy of Dori's obsessive ironing. Light blue Chucks. Beat-up old leather satchel. Ink on his fingers from an antique fountain pen that leaked but which he still loved and wouldn't give up. A geek, to put it shortly. But when Ori met Dwalin's eyes, he didn't see the judgment or skepticism he expected, nor did he see disapproval. The older man's eyes were...warm, encouraging.
"Well, I don't know, I guess," Ori said, finally. Honesty seemed best, here, and Dwalin looked like the kind of man who would appreciate it. Ori's kind of man. He jerked his thoughts away from that path and continued. "I saw this girl the other day who had this beautiful tattoo on her arm, all flowers and color, like a painting. Nothing I saw on the walls out there is like that."
"No, it's not," Dwalin agreed. "That stuff is fine, really. My bread and butter, you know. But it's pretty generic. The piece you're talking about sounds like a lot more than flash; probably a custom job. Probably meant a lot to that girl, took a long time."
"Yeah...." Ori said, trailing off. He didn't really know what he wanted anymore, except to keep talking to this man. "Maybe...you could help me figure something out?"
"Of course!" Dwalin agreed. "That's my job!"
He proceeded to ask Ori a string of questions...where did he want the tattoo? How big? Did he want color, or just black ink? Was there a style that appealed? Et cetera, until Ori's head was spinning. He'd answered all the questions as well as he could, but they'd really gotten no closer to narrowing it down to a single design when Dwalin stopped and propped his heavy head on one hand. Ori noticed that the man's hand was tattooed, too, and tried to read it upside down but failed, distracted by Dwalin's deep voice.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Dwalin said, then continued before Ori could answer. "Why do you want a tattoo in the first place? You seem a thoughtful lad, unlikely to rush into something. So why do you want a tattoo when you don't even know what tattoo you want?"
Ori sighed heavily. "I...I don't know. I don't know if I even really want a tattoo, to be honest," he admitted, afraid Dwalin would be angry with him for wasting his time.
"It's a big decision, you know," Dwalin said, his voice not angry at all, but warm and kind. "The laser removal process is really painful, really expensive, and don't even work that well. You have to be sure."
"Yeah," Ori agreed heavily. "It's just....my older brother...and the barista...and he was so awful about it...and...." he trailed off, embarrassed.
"Oh, I know all about older brothers," Dwalin said, with a short laugh. "Family really knows how to push all your buttons, eh?"
"Yeah, that's because they installed most of them," Ori answered bitterly.
To his surprise, Dwalin laughed heartily, slapping his thighs with his hands and rocking in his chair. He found himself laughing along with the older man. It felt good, sharing a laugh with a man like this, a man so different from Ori but so accepting and open.
Finally calming, Dwalin looked at him seriously. "Well, lad, far be it from me to tell you that you shouldn't get a tattoo; I'd be homeless in no time if I talked my clients out of it too often! But I think maybe you should take some time and think about this hard and come back to me if you decide you really do want it. The best tattoos really mean something to you, you know...and getting a tattoo just to piss off your brother isn't a good reason. You'd regret it soon, and then you'd both be unhappy."
"Oh...okay...you're probably right," Ori said slowly. Really, he knew Dwalin was right; being mad at Dori was a really bad reason to get a tattoo. So was trying to impress a hot guy, which was the other driving motivation he was finding in himself right now. He wanted Dwalin to like him and he wanted to stay in Dwalin's company longer, but he was, indeed, a thoughtful lad, and he knew better. He stood to go.
"Hey," Dwalin said, and Ori turned back. "It was nice talking with you. I hope to see you back, lad!"
"Ori," Ori said. "My name is Ori."
Dwalin smiled and stuck out one huge tattooed hand. Ori took it, trying not to wince at the strong grip.
"I...enjoyed talking to you, too," Ori said. "I think I'll be seeing you again."