shiiki
in
shiikifics
FIC: Dark Mark Tattoo Removal (Igor Karkaroff, OC, Gen)
Title: Dark Mark Tattoo Removal
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13 (for tattoo references)
Characters/Pairings: OC, Igor Karkaroff, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 1,186
Summary: If a Death Eater is desperate enough to escape Voldemort, what might he stoop to? An attempt at crack that turned serious.
Notes: The appearance of Spiderman is of course a nod to spidergirl30. And I don't have tattoos, nor have I ever had them, so any removal methods are described only from brief Google searches (yes, I'm pathetic, researching things like that just for what was intended as crack.)
I was deeply immersed in my well-thumbed copy of a Spiderman comic when the man burst through the shop door. Annoyed, I glanced at the clock. Five minutes to closing; what was the point in his coming in now?
‘Sorry,’ I said, striving to maintain a polite tone, ‘we’re just about to close. We open at eight, so if you’d like to come again to-’
The vehement ‘NO!’ that tore out of him shocked me into jumping and dropping the comic. Hurriedly picking up Peter Parker and putting him aside, I took in this strange character standing in front of me.
He was obviously foreign with that complexion - dark-haired, with a thin goatee under a rather feeble-looking chin. He was unusually garbed - was that a black dress he was wearing? To top it all off, a distinct look of desperation was etched upon his face. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, and his eyes roved around the room, flickering to the door every few seconds as though the hounds of Hades might come charging in at any moment.
‘I need this done now,’ he snarled, but I caught a hint of fear, a slight plea in his voice.
Maybe it was pity, or perhaps fear of what such a desperate character might attempt if I didn’t comply. I beckoned him to take a seat.
‘Calm down, sir,’ I said. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you.’
He came forward with another terrified glance at the door. Mystified, I took a step towards it, but the man caught hold of my arm.
‘You - you can remove …’ he seemed to be searching for the right word, ‘… Taboos?’ He whispered the final word so softly I wondered if I’d heard right. Or wrong, rather.
‘Um, yeah, this is a tattoo-removal clinic.’ He hadn’t just dashed in here without looking at the sign outside, had he?
‘Tat-tattoo. Right.’ He gave a nervous giggle, then suddenly regained his imperious manner. ‘You will remove the - mark for me.’
Wondering if perhaps he suffered from some split personality disorder, I said nothing, but pulled out a customer information card and pen and slid them across the table. ‘I’ll need your particulars.’
He picked up the pen and turned it over, looking confused, as though he’d never used one before. I wondered if he were illiterate.
‘Do you know how to write your name?’
I suppose I should have expected the answering growl of irritation - that was quite a patronising thing to say. The man held the tip to the card gingerly, seeming surprised when the ink blotted out. He scrawled a few indistinct lines - I groaned inwardly, but decided to let it go and have the secretary sort it out when she came in tomorrow morning.
‘All right, we have several methods of removal ... I’d suggest a fade-away method first, it’s slow, but quite effective, and doesn’t hurt so -’
‘I don’t want it to fade, I want it gone. Completely. And I can’t wait.’
Well, that was unusual. Most people jumped at the chance to try a relatively painless method.
‘Laser surgery then, perhaps?’
‘Laser?’
‘Basically it’ll penetrate your skin and break the ink patches up -’
‘Will that get rid of it?’
I was seriously becoming quite tired of his interruptions. It was difficult not to snap back.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, get on with it, then.’
‘Now?’ I gave the clock a quick glance. ‘Perhaps you want to take home a brochure and think it over, and make an appointment …’
I trailed off, seeing the almost unhinged look of desperation flare in his eyes again.
‘Now!’ he insisted, with yet another shifty-eyed glance at the door.
Well, if that was the case … might as well milk the situation for what it was worth. ‘It’ll cost you extra, sir. It is after hours.’
‘I don’t give a flying Hippogriff about the cost. Get on with it!’
Hippogriff? Good heavens, had I just agreed to help a raving lunatic? And really, what could make a man so desperate to get rid of a simple tattoo? Still, as long as there was a nice fat fee … I decided to chance it.
‘Very good sir,’ I said in my best ‘so we have an understanding’ voice. ‘Right this way.’ And I led him into the surgical room.
His tattoo turned out to be in a highly unusual place - on his left forearm. I examined it carefully. The workmanship was incomparable: a vividly-inked skull, with a green-tinged snake emerging from its mouth. I stared at it, transfixed, for several seconds, during which I imagined the snake to be actually swaying.
But of course, that was impossible. I snapped back to attention with the man’s sour, ‘I’m not paying you to stare at it, Muggle.’
I chose to ignore this. (What the hell was ‘Muggle’ supposed to mean, anyway?)
‘I’m going to start by freezing the tattoo area so I can get the ink out easier.’
To my surprise, he flinched as soon as I brushed the edge of the tattoo, as though I’d jabbed him with a needle.
‘Watch it,’ he muttered. Perhaps he was afraid of the pain he was expecting?
‘This part won’t hurt,’ I assured him.
As I set to work, his face contorted. I couldn’t understand it. There should have been a bit of a numbing feeling at this stage, nothing more.
What was stranger yet, the freezing process didn’t seem to be taking effect. The tattoo seemed to be … resistant, somehow. Confused, I prodded it and the man let out an outraged howl.
‘No!!’ He snatched his arm away. ‘Now you’ve done it!’
I hardly heard. The tattoo - it seemed to glow and pulsate now, as though alive. A trick of the light, I thought dimly, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away.
‘Should’ve known better than to try Muggle remedies,’ the man muttered, clutching just above his tattooed arm. His sleeve fell down to cover it and I looked back up into his face, which was twisted with rage and terror.
‘Sir?’
He had extracted a long, thin stick from his dress pocket and was now pointing it straight at me. I felt a stab of fear mixed with incredulity. Was he going to attempt to gouge my eyes out, this madman?
Strangely, he was retreating out of the room, eyes darting around as though expecting an impending attack. I followed, holding out my hands in what I hoped was a calming gesture.
And then I heard him say, ‘Obliviate!’
The room was a hazy blur. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, and found myself staring through an open door. Odd. I looked down and saw Spiderman laid face-down on the counter.
Must’ve dozed off for a moment there. Quite understandable; hadn’t it been a long day? I stretched and yawned. Time to be packing it in for the day, thank goodness.
I gathered up my things, pausing only to decipher a messy scribble on a customer information card.
Iger … Kroft?
Shrugging, I threw it into the bin.
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13 (for tattoo references)
Characters/Pairings: OC, Igor Karkaroff, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 1,186
Summary: If a Death Eater is desperate enough to escape Voldemort, what might he stoop to? An attempt at crack that turned serious.
Notes: The appearance of Spiderman is of course a nod to spidergirl30. And I don't have tattoos, nor have I ever had them, so any removal methods are described only from brief Google searches (yes, I'm pathetic, researching things like that just for what was intended as crack.)
I was deeply immersed in my well-thumbed copy of a Spiderman comic when the man burst through the shop door. Annoyed, I glanced at the clock. Five minutes to closing; what was the point in his coming in now?
‘Sorry,’ I said, striving to maintain a polite tone, ‘we’re just about to close. We open at eight, so if you’d like to come again to-’
The vehement ‘NO!’ that tore out of him shocked me into jumping and dropping the comic. Hurriedly picking up Peter Parker and putting him aside, I took in this strange character standing in front of me.
He was obviously foreign with that complexion - dark-haired, with a thin goatee under a rather feeble-looking chin. He was unusually garbed - was that a black dress he was wearing? To top it all off, a distinct look of desperation was etched upon his face. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, and his eyes roved around the room, flickering to the door every few seconds as though the hounds of Hades might come charging in at any moment.
‘I need this done now,’ he snarled, but I caught a hint of fear, a slight plea in his voice.
Maybe it was pity, or perhaps fear of what such a desperate character might attempt if I didn’t comply. I beckoned him to take a seat.
‘Calm down, sir,’ I said. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you.’
He came forward with another terrified glance at the door. Mystified, I took a step towards it, but the man caught hold of my arm.
‘You - you can remove …’ he seemed to be searching for the right word, ‘… Taboos?’ He whispered the final word so softly I wondered if I’d heard right. Or wrong, rather.
‘Um, yeah, this is a tattoo-removal clinic.’ He hadn’t just dashed in here without looking at the sign outside, had he?
‘Tat-tattoo. Right.’ He gave a nervous giggle, then suddenly regained his imperious manner. ‘You will remove the - mark for me.’
Wondering if perhaps he suffered from some split personality disorder, I said nothing, but pulled out a customer information card and pen and slid them across the table. ‘I’ll need your particulars.’
He picked up the pen and turned it over, looking confused, as though he’d never used one before. I wondered if he were illiterate.
‘Do you know how to write your name?’
I suppose I should have expected the answering growl of irritation - that was quite a patronising thing to say. The man held the tip to the card gingerly, seeming surprised when the ink blotted out. He scrawled a few indistinct lines - I groaned inwardly, but decided to let it go and have the secretary sort it out when she came in tomorrow morning.
‘All right, we have several methods of removal ... I’d suggest a fade-away method first, it’s slow, but quite effective, and doesn’t hurt so -’
‘I don’t want it to fade, I want it gone. Completely. And I can’t wait.’
Well, that was unusual. Most people jumped at the chance to try a relatively painless method.
‘Laser surgery then, perhaps?’
‘Laser?’
‘Basically it’ll penetrate your skin and break the ink patches up -’
‘Will that get rid of it?’
I was seriously becoming quite tired of his interruptions. It was difficult not to snap back.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, get on with it, then.’
‘Now?’ I gave the clock a quick glance. ‘Perhaps you want to take home a brochure and think it over, and make an appointment …’
I trailed off, seeing the almost unhinged look of desperation flare in his eyes again.
‘Now!’ he insisted, with yet another shifty-eyed glance at the door.
Well, if that was the case … might as well milk the situation for what it was worth. ‘It’ll cost you extra, sir. It is after hours.’
‘I don’t give a flying Hippogriff about the cost. Get on with it!’
Hippogriff? Good heavens, had I just agreed to help a raving lunatic? And really, what could make a man so desperate to get rid of a simple tattoo? Still, as long as there was a nice fat fee … I decided to chance it.
‘Very good sir,’ I said in my best ‘so we have an understanding’ voice. ‘Right this way.’ And I led him into the surgical room.
His tattoo turned out to be in a highly unusual place - on his left forearm. I examined it carefully. The workmanship was incomparable: a vividly-inked skull, with a green-tinged snake emerging from its mouth. I stared at it, transfixed, for several seconds, during which I imagined the snake to be actually swaying.
But of course, that was impossible. I snapped back to attention with the man’s sour, ‘I’m not paying you to stare at it, Muggle.’
I chose to ignore this. (What the hell was ‘Muggle’ supposed to mean, anyway?)
‘I’m going to start by freezing the tattoo area so I can get the ink out easier.’
To my surprise, he flinched as soon as I brushed the edge of the tattoo, as though I’d jabbed him with a needle.
‘Watch it,’ he muttered. Perhaps he was afraid of the pain he was expecting?
‘This part won’t hurt,’ I assured him.
As I set to work, his face contorted. I couldn’t understand it. There should have been a bit of a numbing feeling at this stage, nothing more.
What was stranger yet, the freezing process didn’t seem to be taking effect. The tattoo seemed to be … resistant, somehow. Confused, I prodded it and the man let out an outraged howl.
‘No!!’ He snatched his arm away. ‘Now you’ve done it!’
I hardly heard. The tattoo - it seemed to glow and pulsate now, as though alive. A trick of the light, I thought dimly, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away.
‘Should’ve known better than to try Muggle remedies,’ the man muttered, clutching just above his tattooed arm. His sleeve fell down to cover it and I looked back up into his face, which was twisted with rage and terror.
‘Sir?’
He had extracted a long, thin stick from his dress pocket and was now pointing it straight at me. I felt a stab of fear mixed with incredulity. Was he going to attempt to gouge my eyes out, this madman?
Strangely, he was retreating out of the room, eyes darting around as though expecting an impending attack. I followed, holding out my hands in what I hoped was a calming gesture.
And then I heard him say, ‘Obliviate!’
The room was a hazy blur. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, and found myself staring through an open door. Odd. I looked down and saw Spiderman laid face-down on the counter.
Must’ve dozed off for a moment there. Quite understandable; hadn’t it been a long day? I stretched and yawned. Time to be packing it in for the day, thank goodness.
I gathered up my things, pausing only to decipher a messy scribble on a customer information card.
Iger … Kroft?
Shrugging, I threw it into the bin.