RP: A metaphor of difference.
Characters: Rabastan Lestrange
Location: Not-so-Muggle tattoo parlour in Muggle London
Date: 3rd August
Status: Private
Summary: Hiding his dark mark behind something a little more permanent than a charm.
Completion: Complete
After spending hours making various alterations to his face - quite carefully since, naturally, that was a sensible place to aim one’s wand - and succeeding in turning himself into something that resembled the lovechild of Augustus Rookwood and a Weasley, Rabastan had left for the centre of Muggle London with both shoulders stooped and his Dark Mark covered with several charms. Just to be on the safe side.
His arrival at the tattoo parlour caused quite a stir with the artist in question, although mostly because it was a Sunday and they weren’t supposed to be open. Luckily for Rabastan, the owner of the establishment lived upstairs and it didn’t take him long to get both feet through the door and into the studio. They dallied for over half an hour after it was insisted the disguising charms on his forearm had to be removed (‘Sir, they will interfere with my work!’), with a quick round of ‘Show me yours and I’ll show you mine’. Eventually his demands were obliged and the man rolled up his sleeve; a faded Dark Mark stared back. Rabastan made a habit of remembering the faces he'd cursed.
“I liked you better under the Imperius.” Shirt off, charms removed. His comment went ignored.
“What was it you were after, sir?” A scroll of parchment was thrust in his direction. Rabastan had sketched it all out himself. The tattooist looked over them and nodded. “We’ll start with your left arm then. Had you considered adding thorns? Should look a little more artistic, sir. Climbing ivy on its own is a little…” He gave a shrug that essentially translated as ‘boring’.
“Alright. But no flowers.” What should have taken hours took approximately three minutes, and he was about to inquire as to why the man had stopped when a UV lamp flickered on and the ink woke up. Tendrils of various lengths and thicknesses began to creep down his arm, each sprouting thorns or what turned out to be unfurling leaves as they settled into place. Through the spaces that were left, Rabastan could see things moving; animals, apparently, although he didn’t know what sort. They were just part of the package.
“The ivy moves of its own accord, but it’ll slow down in the dark.” The same process had begun on his right arm now. “So, y’know, it won’t always be covered. Will you be wanting any wards placed?”
“No, no wards,” he shielded his eyes as the lamp came on again. “They’re too temperamental.” He had no problems with his tattoos attacking bona fide enemies, but the idea of them lashing out simply because he was annoyed didn’t strike him as a good idea. Besides, there was no point in paying for something he could do himself.
“Right then,” the tattooist switched off the lamp and gestured for Rabastan to lean forward. “This one will take longer. It’s a doppelganger, right? One static, one live?”
“S’right.”
The Ouroboros that was carved - well, that’s how it felt - into his back was a foot in diameter when finished. And it felt like another Dark Mark had been branded on his back. One tattoo on top of the other. The last serpent to go on was free to wander anywhere around his torso, leaving its partner behind. Rabastan was impressed. It symbolised the duality of nature or something. He let the tattooist work a little healing magic, for he has no interest in bleeding over his shirt at present, while he counted out the man’s payment. An amused smirk tugged at his lips as the climbing ivy wound around the thumb on his left hand and the animated serpent did several laps of his chest.
“She likes you. And you’re done.”
“Of course she does,” Rabastan pulled his shirt on and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “Is there another exit besides the main entrance?” He let the cigarette hang in the corner of his mouth as he lit up, the tattooist pointing him in the right direction. “Thanks.”
Glancing around the back alley, he savoured the tobacco for a moment before Apparating as close to home as his own spells would allow.
Location: Not-so-Muggle tattoo parlour in Muggle London
Date: 3rd August
Status: Private
Summary: Hiding his dark mark behind something a little more permanent than a charm.
Completion: Complete
After spending hours making various alterations to his face - quite carefully since, naturally, that was a sensible place to aim one’s wand - and succeeding in turning himself into something that resembled the lovechild of Augustus Rookwood and a Weasley, Rabastan had left for the centre of Muggle London with both shoulders stooped and his Dark Mark covered with several charms. Just to be on the safe side.
His arrival at the tattoo parlour caused quite a stir with the artist in question, although mostly because it was a Sunday and they weren’t supposed to be open. Luckily for Rabastan, the owner of the establishment lived upstairs and it didn’t take him long to get both feet through the door and into the studio. They dallied for over half an hour after it was insisted the disguising charms on his forearm had to be removed (‘Sir, they will interfere with my work!’), with a quick round of ‘Show me yours and I’ll show you mine’. Eventually his demands were obliged and the man rolled up his sleeve; a faded Dark Mark stared back. Rabastan made a habit of remembering the faces he'd cursed.
“I liked you better under the Imperius.” Shirt off, charms removed. His comment went ignored.
“What was it you were after, sir?” A scroll of parchment was thrust in his direction. Rabastan had sketched it all out himself. The tattooist looked over them and nodded. “We’ll start with your left arm then. Had you considered adding thorns? Should look a little more artistic, sir. Climbing ivy on its own is a little…” He gave a shrug that essentially translated as ‘boring’.
“Alright. But no flowers.” What should have taken hours took approximately three minutes, and he was about to inquire as to why the man had stopped when a UV lamp flickered on and the ink woke up. Tendrils of various lengths and thicknesses began to creep down his arm, each sprouting thorns or what turned out to be unfurling leaves as they settled into place. Through the spaces that were left, Rabastan could see things moving; animals, apparently, although he didn’t know what sort. They were just part of the package.
“The ivy moves of its own accord, but it’ll slow down in the dark.” The same process had begun on his right arm now. “So, y’know, it won’t always be covered. Will you be wanting any wards placed?”
“No, no wards,” he shielded his eyes as the lamp came on again. “They’re too temperamental.” He had no problems with his tattoos attacking bona fide enemies, but the idea of them lashing out simply because he was annoyed didn’t strike him as a good idea. Besides, there was no point in paying for something he could do himself.
“Right then,” the tattooist switched off the lamp and gestured for Rabastan to lean forward. “This one will take longer. It’s a doppelganger, right? One static, one live?”
“S’right.”
The Ouroboros that was carved - well, that’s how it felt - into his back was a foot in diameter when finished. And it felt like another Dark Mark had been branded on his back. One tattoo on top of the other. The last serpent to go on was free to wander anywhere around his torso, leaving its partner behind. Rabastan was impressed. It symbolised the duality of nature or something. He let the tattooist work a little healing magic, for he has no interest in bleeding over his shirt at present, while he counted out the man’s payment. An amused smirk tugged at his lips as the climbing ivy wound around the thumb on his left hand and the animated serpent did several laps of his chest.
“She likes you. And you’re done.”
“Of course she does,” Rabastan pulled his shirt on and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “Is there another exit besides the main entrance?” He let the cigarette hang in the corner of his mouth as he lit up, the tattooist pointing him in the right direction. “Thanks.”
Glancing around the back alley, he savoured the tobacco for a moment before Apparating as close to home as his own spells would allow.