Who: Ash and Liadan
When: afternoon
Where: Wild Cathedral

Ash? Was in a good mood. He had an employee. He'd hung out with Eury a few times ... not as much as he would've liked, but work had her busy, so that was okay. And there were opponents on the way. All the evidence was there, and he had no doubt that they would be arriving any night now. Sure, that was concerning for the average citizen of Marquette, but he certainly wasn't that. His other work had been too quiet lately, and the restless feeling he'd been carrying around would soon have an outlet. But first ... He flicked his cigarette butt away as he approached the door to the tattoo parlor. He'd left Sasha in charge of the shop for now, since it didn't seem to be a busy day at all, and gone to seek out a place to have some touch-up work done. He hadn't been in here yet, it was worth checking out.

Liadán? Was in a bad mood. And had been for... fuck, weeks now. She'd found that kid and he was so fucked up, and then he disappeared on her. And she found out he wouldn't be coming by anytime soon, though maybe someday. She'd done everything sort of casing the schools to try and find him. Fortunately enough, she'd had to go to Detroit for a week, and it had presented her an opportunity to take out a lot of her aggression. She returned to work... well, not exactly chipper and healthy, but as good and professional as she was ever going to be, particularly in this shit town.

She was sitting behind the counter with her feet propped up on the glass jewelry cases when she heard the door open. She reached over to turn her music down to a less ear-drum damaging decible and nodded to the guy. "Sup?"

The music made him smirk a bit as he came in. Ah, a woman after his own heart. Or at least his own method of working. He walked up to the counter and gave the girl -- who looked oh so young to him already -- a smile. "'Lo," he greeted, eyeing the body jewelry in the case briefly. Maybe he could think of somewhere else to put a hole, too ... "You the tattoo artist?" he asked, looking at her again

"I'm the everything." Liadán replied, standing up and leaning against the counter. In more ways than one, at the moment. She'd come back and had to fire one of her artists. That had been fun. "Thinkin' on getting something inked?"

"Well ... touched up, if possible. Nothin' new on the brain yet, but I caught a pretty nasty wound on the back a while ago that fucked up a piece. It's all healed and done scarring now, wanted to get an opinion on fixing it," he explained, leaning a jeaned hip on the counter and watching her expression. The smudges he sensed around her were interesting. Not your usual collection of shit-karma, they just felt ... different.

"Simple enough." Liadán replied, though this town was really blowin' her fuckin' mind. Was there ever going to be a time she wasn't patching up scars? God, this place was fucked. "Been doing a lot of that lately, actually." she offered. "What happened?"

Ash chuckled a bit. That actually didn't surprise him, for some reason. "Mexico City's a rough place," he offered in explanation. Though it wasn't much of one, he knew. But he couldn't exactly tell her that he'd had a nasty run-in with a couple of demons, could he? "Gotten a lot of old-injury work, huh?" he said, arching an eyebrow at her. "Wouldn't expect that out of a town this size."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Liadán agreed, with a tone that was tough to define. And yet here I am. Because I can't actually leave it for any serious amount of time now that I'm here. She would have loved to just never come back, but the fucking pull wouldn't let her. "Lots of people want their scars hidden. I think I'm just about a pro at it now."

"I got enough of 'em, it's more that I'm pissed the artwork got fucked up," he said, looking faintly amused. It wasn't about covering it up, it was about fixing his skin tapestry. He straightened up a bit. "Want to take a look? Give me an estimate, maybe?" Hell, if she did a good job, he had other spots that could stand to be re-worked, and a ton that just needed refreshed color.

"Sure thing." she agreed, easily. She'd be happy for something to do, especially if he ended up sticking around. It was a Friday night, but in Marquette she found that didn't mean dick. It was her own personal hell that left her longing for a long, complicated job.

Since there was nobody else in the joint, and he was pretty much the opposite of body-conscious -- they were in a fucking body modification shop, for fuck's sake -- Ash reached back to grab his shirt and pull it up and over his head as he turned around. Not every inch was covered in ink of various styles and themes, but a lot of it was. There were twin thick perpendicular port-wine-stain birthmarks that were lined up between his shoulder blades, bits of some of the tattoos incorporating them into the art at the edges. But the spot he motioned to was a thick, slightly curved scar that had cut through a cluster of Day of the Dead-style painted skulls that were inked into the skin that covered the back of his ribs. "It's a few years old, I figured I'd waited long enough," he said over his shoulder.

Though initially she'd been inspecting the inkwork, her eyes were inevidibly drawn to his birthmarks. It wasn't necessarily the shape that caught her eyes - it was the positioning. Perfectly symmetrical. What were the chances of that, she wondered? "Yeah, it's healed pretty well." she said. "You ever had ink over scars before?" So she would know if he was familiar with the process or not.

Ash didn't even think about his wing-markers. The majority of people who ever saw his back never knew what they were all about anyway. They just gave them passing "huh"'s and the like. Reactions he could shrug off. It didn't occur to him that the young chick with the face peircings would recognize them as anything but what they looked like. He turned to look at her, nodding a touch. "One other time, on my thigh. I think the dude did a shit job, though. I'm sure it can be done better."

"Eh, at least you know what you're in for." Liadán said, shrugging. "Did the guy fuck up, or did it just not take to your scar tissue?" She tried to focus on the job at hand for now, knowing she would have time to ask about the birthmarks. If she could figure out how. There was no protocal for this sort of bullshit. It wasn't exactly a 'show me yours I'll show you mine' situation. There was hinting, and he either knew what she was talking about, or thought she was fucking crazy. Not that I'm in a bad position to have people think I'm insane. I'm the biker chick with a tattoo parlor in the backwoods of Michigan. I am insane.

"He didn't adjust the color, I think is what happened," Ash said, not bothering to put his shirt back on yet. Not to impress her or anything -- he was sure she'd seen more than her share of dudes that were stacked better than him anyway -- but if the price was right for today, he might stay and have the work done and would just end up having to take it off again "The ink took okay, it's in there, it's just a lot lighter than the rest of it. Not that I know the business real well, but you pick shit up, y'know?" He offered her a half-grin.

"I'd certainly hope so." Liadán agreed, smirking briefly. "You gotta go longer over scar tissue." she said, confidently. "If the ink took then, it'll take now. What'd the initial job on this piece cost you?" she asked. Liadán never had flat rates for anything when she worked, she just winged it. And overcharged the assholes. It was a system she liked.

"It was done in South America, so about ..." Ash looked ceiling-ward and tried to remember and calculate at the same time. " ... maybe a hundred bucks, U.S.-wise. A hell of a lot less than it deserved, I tipped the guy well," he said with a wry smile.

Liadán smirked a bit. "I'll do the touch-up for half that." she offered. She'd like to go less, but there was going to be a lot of colorwork involved. Bottom line, she was bored. "We could do it over a couple of sessions if you needed to, the scar tissue can be a pain in the ass. But you don't really look like you're gonna bitch out at a little stinging, so..."

"Yeah?" he said, looking pleased at that. He was still trying to figure out how to read the vibes that came off of her. This was no innocent, less so than your average person, but ... it was colored differently. Or hummed differently, or however one would define that sort of feeling he got from people. "Seems low. Or maybe I get dicked a lot." He grinned a bit wider. "But I'll take it, Miss ...?" He arched an eyebrow and stuck a hand out to shake on it.

"Prices are competitive in Marquette." she replied, grinning faintly. She took his hand and shook it firmly. "Liadán." she told him. She never gave or used a last name unless she absolutely had to, and then she never used her real one. She didn't think she was wanted anywhere, but it was good to be careful.

One name was good enough for the angel. He shook her hand and the grin spread a bit wider. Liadan the punky-girl tattoo artist with the weird karma. Nice. "Ash," he introduced himself, not offering anything other than that himself. That was always his policy. "You good to start today? 'Cause you look like you got work lined up 'round the block," he said lightly.

"I'm good to start." she confirmed, reaching behind her to grab the paperwork. Just the basics, name, age, waiver. "I don't think I've ever been booked since I got here." she added, shaking her head. "Not exactly a prime location."

"I'd imagine you do a lot of sport-team logos on big fat rednecks," Ash speculated easily, leaning one arm on the counter to fill out the paperwork she put in front of him. He didn't put a last name on that either. Nor his real age. Nope, he was just Ash, and he was forty-two. Perpetually, for a lot of years now. When he actually signed the waiver, the last name was utterly indecipherable, the whole thing just a scribble. "What brought you here anyway?" Idle curiosity.

"I think I can draw a perfect Megadeath logo in my sleep." she mumbled, noticing the way he filled out his paperwork. That, mixed with the birthmarks... that was just interesting. Very interesting. She looked up at him and gave a very light shrug. "That, is a really long story." she said. "Needless to say I'm stuck here now. Anyone ever tell you those birthmarks you have look like wings?" Okay, so apparently she was just coming right out with it. Maybe there was something to be said for the element of surprise.

The pen stopped on the paper and Ash looked up. Well. Wasn't that slightly surprising? Why yes, it was. "No, actually, no one's ever really caught on to that," he said slowly, watching her expression. As he was now positive his own was being watched. She didn't read like a demon, he was fairly sure he was okay on that score. But that didn't mean he had her pinned down, so for the moment she had the advantage.

Well that was an interesting answer. No one had caught on to that. "Ah." Liadán said, taking that as a confirmation. Oh fuck it, I'm armed. She shrugged, and nodded towards the hall leading to the work rooms. "Mine look like scars." she offered, before simply leading the way in back.

He abandoned the paperwork and his shirt to follow her, immediately five or six times more intrigued. He'd been overly aware of where his knives were stashed for a minute there, but that fell away. That would probably explain the weird karma coming off of her. "Guardian?" he guessed, looking at the back of her head. Goddamn what was up with this town?

Thank Christ. Well, there wasn't one, but thank him anyway. Getting into a shoot-out in her own parlor would have sucked balls. She looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "Avenging." And fuck, how in the hell was she supposed to guess with a guy that looked like that? Guidance or grace her natural irish ass. "You?" She was guessing Avenging or Karma. She couldn't imagine a Guardian looking like he did.

Ash had met enough of his share of their kind to know not to judge on appearances anymore. You never knew, really. He laughed a bit, looking a mixture of relieved and infinitely pleased. "Avenging. Of course. Karma, here." He kind of felt like he should introduce himself all over again, but it looked like that was what they were doing. There was no sense that she was lying.

"Well aren't we just a couple of happy shiny bastards then." Liadán replied, shaking her head at the odds. Though it was weird to be in the same room as another angel, let alone Karma. Knowing someday she'd do something and fall and probably end up on his Eternal Shit List. "And isn't this just the best goddamn town in the world for two happy bastards like us?"

Funny how his projected Life Plan was more or less the same. Fall, end up every angel's enemy for as long as survived. Unless he went out in a blaze of glory before that could happen. Which was really the preferable option. Ash plunked down in one of the chairs, looking highly amused. Yes indeed he was a happy shiny bastard. "This town ... yeah, never ceases to amaze. The place to make a name for yourself or burn the fuck out, feels like. What's your type?" He knew Avengers had their own little special interest groups, and he was real curious about her's.

"Outcasts." Liadán answered, heading over to her chair to get her area ready. "Which means as soon as I entered Marquette I was basically fucking overwhelmed and mentally assfucked and all but chained here." she explained. "It was special, lemme tell 'ya. I hate this place." Hey wait a minute. She looked up for a moment, a little interested. "What's my karma look like?" That was a good thing to know, right?

Ash chuckle-snorted. He knew how that was, more or less. If there was ever a town that was leaking bad karma out of it's ears, it was Marquette. It just tended to be different bad karma. "It feels like bruises," he said, eyes ticking over her assessingly before coming back to her face. "Smudgy, kind of light because of the balance, but ... I dunno, it feels different. Malicious but focused. Which makes sense now that I know what you are, but threw me a bit out there." He offered her a grin. Karma was an elusive sort of thing to describe; he kind of felt and saw it at the same time, like a ghost aura.

Liadán clicked her tongue as she thought that over, and finally nodded approvingly. "That makes sense." At least it didn't sound like he owed her any backlash, which was better than she would have expected, honestly. It was possible she'd gone just a touch overboard once or twice. Or something. She took her seat next to him and starting preparing her tray and ink caps. At least I haven't fucked up yet.

"No worries, though, nothing'll fall apart the instant I leave or any shit like that, you're good to go," he assured her. Because it seemed like when he did meet people who knew what he was all about, he tended to make them nervous. It depended on how guilty they felt about their lives. He watched her set everything out, wondering vaguely how old she was. She didn't look very, but that was one of their kind's most useful perks sometimes. That age deception.

Liadán looked up at him briefly and cracked a small smirk. "If you were gonna do something to me I kinda figured you'd just get it over with." she said, shrugging faintly. "Unless you're waiting to make sure I don't fuck up your ink." she thought outloud. "I'll wait until I'm done to get paranoid."

She didn't smile much, did she? Though really he couldn't blame her. The majority of his were farces, anyway. And Avengers always had plenty to be pissed off about. "I usually don't let targets ink me," he let her know, shifting around and putting his arms on the back of the chair so his back was clear for her to start working on whenever she was ready. "It's generally a bad policy to put yourself at the mercy of shitbags."

Liadán pulled a pair of gloves on and leaned in to start cleaning the area. "Yeah, I could see where that might be a problem." she said. "But how do you know I'm just not a shitbag with a good excuse?" Or someone who just hadn't gotten around to letting out the darker stuff. Just because she hadn't done it didn't mean it wasn't there.

Ash shrugged a shoulder slightly. "I don't," he assented. "Not my job to know. Just know that your karma's clean enough right now, so if you are a shitbag with a good excuse, you haven't been indulging lately." He glanced over at her. There was also the fact that she hadn't tried to hide what she was from him, which usually made a difference. The Fallen weren't keen on piping up about their old lives. "How do you know I don't pick on outcasts with bad karma?"

"You probably do." Liadán answered. "Dem's da breaks. If I saw Mr. Popularity about to get hit by a bus, fuck, that's his problem. You're not picking on outcasts now, or if you are, none I'm watching after. I'd know." she said, rather confident on that. "Alright, we're good to go. You comfy? Want anything?"

He chuckled a bit at that particular mental image and shifted a bit in the chair to get as comfortable as possible. "All good," he confirmed, sounding amused. Really, to him, people were people. He got to see how being a shitbag didn't skip over anybody, outcast or Mr. Popularity, young or old, rich or poor, all that bullshit. Bad karma was equal opportunity, and so was he.

"Alright then." Liadán replied, the low buzz of the machine starting up as she got to work. She felt a little weird, though she was working not to acknowledge or think about it. She didn't come across other angels often - or if she did, she was oblivious. Now being in the same room with someone that might see the need to put a bullet in her head someday... it was fucking bizarre. It wasn't even something she minded, she'd accepted this as her lot in life a long time ago. It was just foreign. "So what's your deal?" she asked. "You live around here, or are you the nomadic sort?"

Ash relaxed as the needle touched his skin, that good feeling he always got from being inked starting up almost immediately. It wouldn't be a big job, and a little more painful than others, but he'd enjoy it while it lasted. "I moved here a little while ago," he told her, propping his chin up on his crossed arms. "A month or two, maybe. More or less the nomadic sort, but I've lit in a few places for a couple of years before. This place ... I dunno. Feels like it's the place to avoid, or dig your roots in and stay, y'know? There's a lot of shit to be done here."

"Yeah, you got that right." Liadán agreed, and even managed not to sound bitter about it. "I'm sure it keeps you busy." It did her. She tried to ignore the nagging feeling about Caleb she'd had in the back of her head since meeting him. It always came back. "So what is it for you? The place to be, or the place to avoid?"

He chuckled a bit. "Place to be," Ash answered without having to think about it. "It'll either kill me or save me, I guess. If it'll happen anyplace, it'll happen here." And he sounded completely okay with either one of those options. It was better than the only other alternative. His mind turned briefly to Eury, and what she might think of that, but didn't linger. He wasn't really involved yet, and likely wouldn't be, it didn't bear thinking about too hard.

That was an interesting choice of words. "Save you?" Liadán questioned, raising an eyebrow even if he couldn't see. "What do you need saving from?"

Ash turned his head just a bit to look at her out of the corner of his eye over his shoulder, careful not to move his torso. "What do any of us with the fuck-hard jobs need saving from?" he posed. The obvious answer being 'themselves.' If she was an Avenger and any years old, he figured she knew how to fend for herself. "My touch is starting to slip."

Definitely interesting. Liadán briefly met his eyes, but for the most part, looked deep in concentration over her work. "So what do you think it would take to save you?" she asked. If salvation was even a possibility. Liadán herself... there were a lot of days she almost looked foward to falling. Moreso to being put out of her misery at the end, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"I don't know for sure," he admitted with a faint smile. He looked back at the wall. "But the way I figure it ... this town is an open tumor on the skin of the world, and if there's still a passion for the work to be woken back up? I'll find it here. Or there'll be something big and nasty enough to kill me. Sort of a last ditch effort for either one, I guess." He realized in an odd way that this was the most open about the whole thing that he'd ever been with anybody. Not that they'd asked. Still.

"So either way you win." Liadán replied, and actually without sarcasm. "Solid plan." She couldn't really blame him. She could imagine seeing everyone's karma was just about the quickest road to burnout there was. She could even identify with him, weird as that was. Well, maybe I'll find my brother and then he'll kill me. Yeah, sure, that'd help.

"I'd rather have it that way than ... fall and be hunted by everyone on both sides," he said. "Better to go out being the hunter than the other way around." It sounded reasonable to him. Ash examined the wall and kept still like he was supposed to. "Sound like you've looked at the choices yourself," he added in mildly.

Liadán didn't reply to the bit about falling. She knew what falling would mean, but... it wasn't something she was willing to talk about. It made her think of her mother too much. "Yeah, you might say that." she said. "Let's just say I'm not gonna do this shit for a hundred years. Maybe my fault for going with what I did, but there's only so many ruined children you can see before you just don't see the fucking point anymore. What I do doesn't actually make anything better. I make some bastard suffer for breaking his kid's mind, even if he's dead, the kid's still broken."

He could see that. He could really see that, actually. And briefly counted himself lucky that he rarely saw the results of the bad karma he saw, just that it was there. That would just make everything infinitely worse. He nodded a touch. "Hundred years is a long time," he said, because it certainly had been for him. "To watch humanity fuck up over and over again, and keep their eyes shut tight enough to not see anything at all. Not learn a goddamn thing."

"Sounds like you speak from experience." Liadán said. "How old are you?" She didn't see the point in pussyfooting around it. She was gonna take a wild guess and say that what he had put on his paperwork wasn't the truth.

"A few short of one-seventy-five, at last count," he answered without hesitating over it. There really wasn't any point in it. He definitely wasn't as old as some, but Ash felt like he'd packed a lot into his years. And maybe lasted better than some. "You?"

Liadán smirked a bit. "Twenty-three." she answered. There was no way in hell she was going to make it to seventy-five. Fuck, she didn't want to. "I guess you may have more reason to be jaded than I do."

Ash chuckled faintly. "It's all relative, sweetheart," he said. "What gets under my skin might not your's and vice versa. Impossible to compare that shit. I can't imagine doing what you do even for a couple of years, you know? I'm happy not seein' the path of destruction left behind my targets, thanks. I'll just run trucks into 'em and go on my way."

"Well, that sounds like a good time too." Liadán said, shrugging briefly as she got more ink. "I like to draw it out more." She supposed that made sense, what with the experience she had with victims. Be it an asshole parent or a high school bully... whatever she was doing, it wasn't going to be like ripping off a band-aid. If they lived, it had to be something that would haunt them. It was only fair.

Well she would, wouldn't she? With the things she had to see. "Good," he muttered quietly. Because he was positive that the fuckers she ran into completely deserved every bit of everything they got. Just like his did. There was only so far he could go, however. Maybe she did better at teaching than he did, with the accidents he could manage. It was the mid-range people that really disappointed him, those that rode the line still. The people there was hope for, and they just ... tended to fail.

His comment was a small one, but it actually brought out a small, darkly amused grin. "Yeah." she just said, leaving it at that. This encounter was definitely interesting. And was going to be leaving her with a lot to think about. "So tell me about your ink." she prompted. Everyone had stories, and maybe not talking about torturing people would be a good thing. Not that she'd minded it.

"Oh so much to tell," he said with a faint chuckle. "Really, a lot of them are more marks of where I've been in the world. Like the one you're re-doing, got that one in Mexico City about ten or fifteen years ago. Their Dia de los Muertos is pretty intense, there's a lot going on. Kind of a hotbed for demons, too. But I figured what the hell, right? Caught up in the festival. Ahhhh, let's see ..." He tried to picture what was on his back in plain view for her. "On the other side somewhere should be the outline of a temple in Tibet. Always meant to get it fully colored in and detailed better, but." He shrugged a shoulder. "I try to pick one up most everywhere I've been. Marquette hasn't told me yet what it wants to be, so we'll see on that one."

Liadán smirked briefly. "So you're a roadmap." she said. "Good deal. You might be fucked on Marquette though. Kind of hard to symbolize all the levels of fucked up shit. Though I'd be interested to see what you came up with." She was sure Marquette symbolized very different things to just about everyone but herself, but Ash sounded like his view of it was at least closer to her own.

Ash was of the mind that Marquette might leave it's mark more in scars than in ink, but he would have to see. He had plenty of the former as well, and they marked the progression of his life almost better than the tats did, if one knew how to read them. "Well you might be the one needling it on, so you'll probably get to," he said amiably. "What about your's? You got a theme going on?"

"Not really." Liadán admitted. "Just shit I've picked up or done along the way. Genie lamp on my stomach, a clock at the back of my neck... lots of little shit from my teenage years, random shit I just did for the sake of practice. I've got a lot more piercings than I do ink, couple dozen of those. On myself I tend to play around with those a lot more, I kind of fell into both at the same time and gravitated more towards the piercings." Mainly because she liked the scars.

"I learned pretty early that I can't have too many of those," he said, sounding fairly amused. "At least not any dangly ones, I've had a few ripped out." And though the pain was fun at the time, depending on his adrenaline level? Infections could be a bitch. Especially if it was demon claws that ripped and nicked. He wondered in a passing way if she was one of those chicks who got off on it, but didn't ask. Knowing what she was, she felt too much like a kid to him.

"Yeah, I don't do dangly." Liadán replied. "But I have a lot of surface piercings, which come out damn easy. I don't mind redoing them." She'd never really had a problem with having to pierce through scar tissue. The more the better. "I have rings through the tips of my middle fingers that were a real pain in the ass, had to have 'em done in Italy. Drilled right through. Lost feeling for a long time, but it makes flipping people off so much more rewarding."

That had him laughing. Not very hard, 'cause she was still working, and he'd rather not have fucked up lines on his back. "When you take your gloves off, I gotta see that," he said, sounding highly amused. Yeah, he could imagine the looks on some people's faces; he knew that he'd never seen a pierced finger before.

Liadán actually grinned again, but was careful when he started laughing. "They'll do some fucked up shit over there. I saw a fucker who had gauges in his ankles. You could see right through 'em. Those fuckers commit, I've never had a piercing where I had to relearn to walk again. Numb fingers I could live with."

"That is some fucked up shit," Ash agreed wholeheartedly. Though he supposed there were lots of cultures that did weird shit. There were still parts of China that bound women's feet, after all. And the Polynesian women with all the gold circlets around their necks. At least he thought they were Polynesian. Somewhere around there. It was all perspective. "How long did it take for the feeling to come back?" He was curious now.

"Couple weeks, couple months... somewhere around there." Liadán replied. "I've seen them done differently and people end up losing their fingernails and open themselves up to all sorts of infection. Mine were done horizontally through the fingertip, instead of through the nail. Hurt like a bitch and I couldn't use them for a couple weeks, then a month or two to be functional with them again. There's a lot of damage risked by that sort of shit though, some people never get feeling back."

"Ah well, life is full of risks," he said, still amused. Though he probably wouldn't have risked feeling in his fingers, hey, to each their own. His just happened to be stupidly important to him. "Must've hurt like a bitch when you did it." What with all the nerve endings and all. And he'd thought his nipples were bad.

"Well it was going through bone, too." Liadán answered. "Let's put it this way, I was strapped down for it. A lot of people pass out or get put under. I wanted the full effect. It's fucking intense, breaking a bone didn't really compare to that pain. I went home after and got completely shitfaced. For a few days. It's a little fuzzy."

"Sounds like the best thing you could've done," he said, always a supporter of getting shitfaced. It was more or less his remedy for most everything, so why should he fault anybody else for it? That's right, he couldn't. Nor would he, ever. Without moving his torso too much, Ash glanced over his shoulder at her again. "How's it looking?" he asked.

"Pretty good, the ink's taking over the scar tissue." Liadán said. "If you want me to take a break I can get mirrors for you to see." she offered. "Think we're still lookin' at another forty-five minutes at least, unless you wanted to space it out more."

"Nah, I'll wait 'til the end." He resettled his head. He'd never really been one to check tattooing progress. Their style and handiwork was what it was and it would turn out shitty in the end if that's what it was going to do. And he didn't have any plans to go anywhere, after all, so another forty-five wouldn't hurt anything. "So you got a car or a bike or anything?" May as well drum up business while he was here, maybe.

"I got a Harley, you might have seen it out front." Liadán answered, leaning back in after changing ink. "Yet another reason why Marquette sucks, I have to store it through the snowy months - which is more than half the fuckin' year. Why?"

"Yeah, I noticed," he said with a grin at the wall. "I've got a shop in town. Engines are kind of my livelihood, so I was just gonna let you know that if you ever need work done, I promise not to screw you." Not that she seemed like a woman who let herself get screwed very often. Still, the offer was open. It felt like she was giving him a break on the ink, so fair was fair.

"Yeah?" Liadán asked, sounding a bit amused. She was actually grinning faintly again. "Leave me your card before you go. She's kind of my baby, I put more money into her than I do myself. What are you ridin'?"

"If by 'card' you mean name and number scribbled down on a piece of paper, I can do that," he told her, amused himself. "Never stay anywhere long enough for cards, never keep a number that long. But I can definitely understand that. I'm on a Harley VRSCD Night Rod? From a guy who owed me big, and holy balls, she's sex on wheels. Dirty, mean sex. I love her. ... oh and hey, if when the all the snow drops you need a good spot to store your's, I'm sure I'll have room in the garage."

Liadán grinned widely at his description of her. "Sounds hot." she agreed. "What's her name?" She was guessing he'd be the sort of guy that named his shit. Maybe just because that was what Liadán did herself. "I'll probably take you up on that. I got jacked on price last year."

"Vanessa," he said with obvious relish. Because a lot of evil bitches had V-names. Or so the theory went. "Since you asked, I'm guessing your girl has a name too?" He grinned at the wall, always one to enjoy it when the conversation turned to bikes.

Liadán snickered faintly at his name, but it was with approval. "Seraphine." she answered. Because she'd been younger and thought it was horribly clever. "I basically had to restore her myself, I think it was the only 'luxury' purchase I've ever made." Most of Liadán's money went right back into the shop.

Ash chuckled, seeing where she could come up with that immediately. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but hey. To each their own. "Nice," he said. "I couldn't have bought her if I tried, it had to be a favor. Had a brokedown Yamaha crotch rocket before Vanessa. Not a good travel-bike, by the way. But she's way more than luxury, I'd say."

Liadán shrugged with one shoulder. "When I get to travel, I travel light." she said. "Doesn't sound like either one of us are going anywhere anytime soon, anyway. I have shitbags to find, and you're out for salvation. That ought to keep us busy a couple decades."

"Salvation or death," he reminded her in a glib sort of way. Huh, maybe that should be his Marquette tattoo. He'd think on it. "But you're right. Nothing we can do but wait and see, that's how it always is." It wasn't a cheery sort of thought, but he'd stopped looking for those quite a few years ago.