Inked [1x1]

Otto smiled weakly. "I probably would have done the same thing," he admitted, rubbing at his eyes again. He took a moment to study what was left of Laila's mark as she walked away. If she drew those on every day, she could one hundred percent be an artist, or even an inker. The latter was very unlikely, though.
 
She shook her head, even though he probably wouldn't see it. "No, you probably wouldn't." She sighed, resting her hands on the counter. "You're a better person than I am." Maybe being a blank had affected the kind of person she'd become.

Laila returned back to the living room, a little sheepish. "Thank you for driving me home, and listening... and not running for the hills the second I told you the truth."
 
"That's a lie, and you know it," Otto said, standing up off the couch. He walked to the bar and put his elbows down on the edge, his forearms spread out on the actual bar surface. "You might have made a mistake, and you might be different from others, but that doesn't make you a bad person," he said, looking down at his own marks.

He shook his head. "It's no problem. Thanks for listening to me," he said, scratching behind his neck. His face turned bitter. "Whenever I tell people about Anja, they tell me I have to forget her. I've not talked about her for...ages."
 
She shrugged. She wasn't a bad person, but he was still a better person than she. It wasn't worth the argument, though. "Of course," She said softly. How anyone could think a baby, an innocent child, was evil and somehow wrong... she shook her head.

She'd known that blanks weren't what they were made out to be a long time ago and that had left her suspicious of most things their government told them. "You can always talk about her to me."
 
Otto shook his head and chuckled. "I'll cry again," he mumbled, smiling just a little. His eyes drifted to his name on his wrist. He ran his thumb over the bold, printed letters. "How have you lived in Saintstone without being marked? Didn't your parents get you done at birth?" He asked, lifting up his wrist.
 
"That's okay, too." At his question, Laila winced. Sure, she'd already told him her secret, but sharing her family's secret was another thing entirely. "I... haven't lived in Saintstone my entire life." She admitted, quietly. "I was... My family was smuggled in when I was young. They all got inked and I chose not to. I liked the idea of being who I was and honestly the process scared me. So, my mom painted my name and my age on me every morning. When she died, I continued the tradition."
 
Otto nodded slowly. "You do it every day?" He asked. All his life, he'd taken the permanent nature of his marks for granted (though it could obviously be something of a curse). If he'd had to paint them on every single morning, he probably would have given up already.
 
Lailia nodded, "Every morning. Sometimes, if I shower at night, I'll paint them on before I go to bed and do any touch ups in the morning, if necessary."
 
"That's crazy," Otto mumbled, letting his arm drop to the counter. "I didn't even notice. You've got to have stencils, right?" He asked. When he was marking, he had to use a stencil, otherwise it would come out lopsided or just not right.
 
She smiled, "I've been doing it for years." Shrugging a shoulder she looked around and opened a drawer, "Somewhere around here. I haven't had to use them for several years now. Maybe some days when I having a lot of trouble getting it right, but I hardly ever get close enough to people for them to notice if it's not entirely perfect. And I work from home, so..." She shrugged again.
 
The corner of Otto's mouth perked up into a little half-smile. "Forget crazy. That's just plain impressive." He managed a little chuckle, but it faded away pretty quickly. "What about your family tree?" He asked.
 
"I don't... I don't have one," She muttered. "It's not something I can do for myself. I just... don't wear anything that would let anyone get a peek of it and I don't close enough for anyone to see it." Except for that one time, but seeing as she'd been an unwilling participant.

She managed a smile.

"Anyway. Now all my secrets are there, laid bare." Ironically enough, the one thing she didn't want.

Except this time, this time she'd made the choice.
 
"I see," Otto said, leaning off of the counter. "'cus, I mean, I was wondering," he laughed a little as he mimed drawing on his back, "it'd be pretty difficult to do once, never mind every day."

He sighed, looking down at his feet. "Is it my turn to spill my guts, then?" He asked with a very slight chuckle.
 
She nodded, "Don't get me wrong, I've considered it." Laila arched an eyebrow at Otto, "I don't know, are there more secrets for you to confess." She put an elbow on the counter, using her hand to hold up her head and look at him. "Because I'd be interested to know what dark, possibly illegal, secrets you might be hiding."
 
Otto laughed. His hand drifted to his back. "There are a few little things," he admitted with a chuckle. He wandered idly towards the dinner table and perched on one of the chairs. He pinched at the neckline of his shirt. "I got a mark for her," he mumbled. "At the bottom of my family tree." He looked up to meet Laila's eyes, not sure if she would want to see it or not.
 
Laila trailed behind to take a seat but froze when he mentioned the illicit tattoo. Her brow raised again, "May I see?" She asked, quiet.
 
Otto looked down at his shirt. He went to take it off, but froze. He felt like he was walking on eggshells, not wanting to remind Laila of anything. Deciding against taking it off - it would just be awkward after, anyways - he turned around and lifted up the hem a little.

Just at the base of the tree, there were a few leaves. There were four in total. Three of them were rather plain; brown and crumpled, for old members of the family. The other one, however, was far more noticeable. It was a strong, healthy looking leaf, coloured bright gold and orange and all the good colours of autumn.
 
She reached forward, to touch it, but then withdrew her hand and instead crouched a little to get a good look. "And what do you tell people when they see this leaf?"

It was sad. The only memory that a precious baby ever existed was this beautifully done golden leaf. She wanted to hug Otto again.
 
Otto chuckled a little, holding the shirt up with one hand and running his hand through his hair with the other. "Nobody ever sees it," he said with a shrug. "I don't go swimming and I keep my shirt on in public."
 
Her brows raised but she decided not to comment and nodded instead standing so that he could lower his shirt back. She took a seat at the dining table and sighed, placing her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry, Otto. I... that day at the coffee shop, I should have never given you my number and we wouldn't be sitting here."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top