( her desk has been brought up, by now; it ought to serve. she pauses a moment longer before declining with a tip of her fingers - )
I prefer not. Thank you.
( it's mostly the simple fact that alcohol eases a number of things she has absolutely no interest in having eased, currently - her composure is a hard won thing clawed back to with her nails and she will not have it compromised - but she does well remember how much she'd had to drink the first time she had a tattoo, and has the wry thought that dorian would not thank her for repeating the experience of bleeding quite so much all over his clean sheets. )
[ Condolences for the bereaved, Antivan style. That done it is a mere matter of unpacking his inks and needles, checking them against the light to make certain that all of them are clean (they are, he never puts them away without cleaning them thoroughly but it gives him an excuse not to look at her for a moment), casually as he can manage he taps a sketchbook, full of feathers and griffons and dragons and writing. The usual tattoos he has been asked to do in the past. ]
( she gives him the sketch that she's made - she is no great artist, it's more of an idea than a final product, but what she wants is fairly clear; the warden's sigil added behind her existing tattoo, in the spaces between the skull and its vines. )
Perhaps a stencil to ensure a clean shape,
( she suggests. there's no modesty to her when she removes her robe - a long, soft petticoat slung improbably low on her hips and her breasts bound, for modesty and convenience, but leaving bare the existing tattoo low on the back of her hip that hercules had, arguably, been quite fond of in life. )
[ The sigil is familiar enough a thing- he'd sketched it out numerous times in many sizes and variations for Alistair's curiosity during the blight. He flips to a fresh page and takes a look at the ink in her skin, recreating the shape of the skull and vines in neat, clean lines before replicating her rough sketch in careful detail.
This is a request made of a comrade's lady. He can offer nothing less than perfection. ]
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no subject
Date: 2016-08-03 01:10 pm (UTC)I prefer not. Thank you.
( it's mostly the simple fact that alcohol eases a number of things she has absolutely no interest in having eased, currently - her composure is a hard won thing clawed back to with her nails and she will not have it compromised - but she does well remember how much she'd had to drink the first time she had a tattoo, and has the wry thought that dorian would not thank her for repeating the experience of bleeding quite so much all over his clean sheets. )
no subject
Date: 2016-08-14 05:03 am (UTC)[ Condolences for the bereaved, Antivan style. That done it is a mere matter of unpacking his inks and needles, checking them against the light to make certain that all of them are clean (they are, he never puts them away without cleaning them thoroughly but it gives him an excuse not to look at her for a moment), casually as he can manage he taps a sketchbook, full of feathers and griffons and dragons and writing. The usual tattoos he has been asked to do in the past. ]
What was it that you had in mind?
no subject
Date: 2016-08-18 12:52 am (UTC)Perhaps a stencil to ensure a clean shape,
( she suggests. there's no modesty to her when she removes her robe - a long, soft petticoat slung improbably low on her hips and her breasts bound, for modesty and convenience, but leaving bare the existing tattoo low on the back of her hip that hercules had, arguably, been quite fond of in life. )
This, you see?
no subject
Date: 2016-08-18 07:47 am (UTC)[ The sigil is familiar enough a thing- he'd sketched it out numerous times in many sizes and variations for Alistair's curiosity during the blight. He flips to a fresh page and takes a look at the ink in her skin, recreating the shape of the skull and vines in neat, clean lines before replicating her rough sketch in careful detail.
This is a request made of a comrade's lady. He can offer nothing less than perfection. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-08-21 01:16 pm (UTC)( when he's done, or near to it, leaning not quite over his shoulder, tucking her hair behind her ear that it doesn't touch him unexpectedly. )
Yes. That precisely is what I want.
( there is some comfort to be found in something she can control. )