Tattoos - The Luxury {Louie and Death}

[Louie]

Tattoos, what a luxury. I almost feel bad for people in the less wealthy Districts. Having to farm, mine, fish, who wants to do that? Personally, I wouldn't mind too much, but the life I live now is so much better than theirs. I mean, District One, the Luxury District. It just sounds so much better than everything else. I'd be fine living in most of the other Districts, but the one I wouldn't be able to even step in would be District Twelve. All that black dust that comes off of the coal. Even the people who don't work in the mines get covered in it! It's craziness to me. Here I am, sitting here, the tattoo parlor where my father works, and over half of Panem is probably scooping up cow dung, or sewing things, or fishing.

People stood in front of me, today the line going to the entrance door. Busy day today, seems like everybody in District One wants a tattoo today. I sit down in a small, red, leather chair that spins. Sure, I'm too old to be doing this, but spinning around in the chairs is so fun. Like I'm on a train, but I never stop. I watch the blurred figures pass by me as I spin, my hair waving wildly.

I come to an abrupt stop, my vision turning upside down. I feel as if I will throw up for just a moment, before all is normal. I feel my lips curl up as I let out a laugh. The aftermath may not be as pleasant, but the actual action is. I feel as if I were riding a horse, the wind blowing through my hair, the blurred images flying passed me. That's what I'd like, a horse. I can see myself now, riding a horse through an open field. 

I hear a whisper about the up coming reaping and I feel my heart in my throat. I'd forgotten about that. It was only a few days until said reaping. I'd put it into the back of my mind, in hopes of forgetting. Well, that sure worked. To distract myself, I decided to watch people in the parlor. 

I love people watching. The bizarre looks of everybody before and after they get their tattoo. Even the small ones you can tell the difference. The creativity of the tattoo artists, including my father. He was very good at his job. Thankfully he found something he was good at other than running illegal brawling sessions. 

I lean back in my chair, watching the people intently, with the occasional glance at my father, who has been working on a middle-aged man for the passed fifteen minutes now.



Death

[Death]

[presto]

rarity hawking | D1

The bell rings. 

And I step inside this little tattoo parlor. Ready to ink it up. 

I'd wanted a tattoo since I was little. Since I was old enough to understand what a tattoo was. Since my parents had decided for me that I would appear to be the clean-cut little woman that they wanted me to be. The straight forward simpleton.

I mean, I kind of am, but that's besides the point.

Everyone is busy. Over to one side, an older gentleman is being worked on. He's a wimp. I don't know how he could have ever belonged to the career district. His face is turning kind of purple-ish from the effort to hold in his whimpering.

Wimp.

I'm getting mine across my hips and stomach and rips. He's just getting something on the shoulder blade. He should suck it up.

Or, better yet, he could chicken out and leave and then I could get my tattoo started that much sooner. I know it'll take several visits to finish, but I might as well get started now.

Ripred, this is taking forever.

This is the only place I want to come to. I hear the owner of this place is a true artist. Plus, I had to save up my own money for it and his is the highest quality for the price.

I take a seat next to a girl who can't seem to sit still. She seems so hyperactive. And I'm already bored of waiting here so I might as well pass the time with this girl. She'll amuse me, I think. I hope. If she doesn't, then we're going to have some problems.

"Are you getting a tattoo as well?" I ask. Part of me prays she says no, since she'd obviously get one even before me. Maybe I should've set up an appointment. I didn't figure I'd have to wait though.

{for your reference: le tattoo}

[/presto]

[Louie]

Norah Lux

Out the corner of my eye, I saw a girl sit beside me, looking very bored. I couldn't help but smile. She must be at the end of the line, in which was so very far away. I spun the chair to face her as she asked if I was getting a tattoo. I wish, they were so amazing. Not only were they coo, but so many tell a story. Like mine, the dagger that symbolizes my little brother. He's still with me, I know it. I refuse to think otherwise.

"No, no, I wish. My father just works here." I replied, glancing up at the line. It'd gotten even longer than before. Funny how time flies when... Well when your flying around on a spinney chair like it's an airplane.I did a few more spins before I stopped again, listening for the girl's response.

An older man sat, whimpering and whining as he got a tattoo on his shoulder. I couldn't help but laugh. On his shoulder? Please, I got one on my neck when I was little, and I didn't even say a word. While this guy sat there, nearly crying, as he got a tiny little tattoo on his shoulder.

A part of me wanted to yell at this man. Try watching your brother die right after birth. Try sitting there, looking at your little brother's motionless, dead body. That is something to be crying about, not a flippin' tattoo. The other part of me wants to comfort him. I understand what's going on but he needs to deal with it, times aren't going to get much better any time soon.

I simply said nothing, returning my attention to the chair beside me. "You know, those chairs spin." I laughed, spinning another time in my chair. My hair some how wound up in my mouth this time, so I spit it out and stopped clumsily and nearly slid off of the seat.