Work Text:
“Why a banana, exactly?”
“Simulates the resistance of skin, I think. Try it again, your last one looked good.”
Aimsey takes the tattoo gun back up and starts tracing the design once more.
“What made you start tattooing, Eret?” she asks, not looking up. The room smells like fruit salad and ink. The tattoo gun buzzes as Aimsey works, almost covering up how Eret freezes and stops sketching.
“Oh, you know.” Pencil scratching paper again. A lightness in their tone that suggests something far-off. “I was the visual artist out of a bunch of nobodies in the punk bar. Our ringleader was starting a band. They had me design their logo and give it to them all as shitty stick and pokes. The usual. Started apprenticing with Puffy a few months later.”
“What band?”
“Nobody you’ve heard of.” He says it a little too quickly, like there’s something he isn’t telling them. When Aimsey glances up, they notice that Eret is a little too engrossed in his sketchpad. “They never made it out of the local scene. It was almost ten years ago, anyway.”
Aimsey had always wondered what that tattoo on the inside of Eret’s left wrist was. She can see it now, the triangle and two horizontal lines coming from the point, with two Xs between them. The lines are shaky, unsure, done with an unsteady, unpracticed hand. She’d seen the symbol around town here and there – on stickers on light poles, on jackets in the local scene, graffitied on the bathroom door at the bar – but had never asked what it meant. She’s starting to get the picture.
“At Lady Death’s, right?” xe asks. Eret hums. Aimsey connects up another line on the banana. “Think I saw a picture of you and them in there. Playing a show.”
Eret snorts, rolling her eyes.
“I definitely wasn’t playing anything,” he says, “Can’t carry a tune to save my life.”
She thinks about that picture on the wall, the one Tubbo had showed her. Lady Death’s shitty little stage had held plenty of acts over time, but this one was different. At least, that’s what Tubbo had claimed. They were the real deal, they were gonna make it big. He and the singer’s little brother had been fourteen and were the band’s biggest fans. They were only allowed into the shows because they knew the singer. Hell, the band themselves were barely old enough to play in the bar; Tubbo was pretty certain the bassist was, like, barely eighteen when they started.
The singer is mid-yell, clutching the microphone with both hands, guitar hanging by his torso. The bassist, a redhead, is grinning as he plays, and the other guitarist, a girl with bright pink hair, is yelling into her mic as well. Aimsey knows her: Niki, Lady Death’s senior bartender. The guy on drums is wearing a headset and 3D glasses. Off to the side, there are two teenagers, way too young to be at the show, looking fucking ecstatic, and beside them, a tall young man with short, curly hair and dark glasses, smiling wide.
Aimsey looks up at xer boss, the person teaching xem to tattoo. Their hair is longer, their face is older, they have way more ink, but they’re clearly the same person. Xe’s not going to ask too much more, not when Eret seems so reluctant to talk about it but… xe can’t help wondering.
“Do you know where they are now?” he asks.
“Here and there.” Eret shrugs. “Niki’s still at Lady Death’s. Jack’s in the area, he does event management. Fundy’s some kind of programmer now, I think, he added me on fucking LinkedIn a few years ago.”
“And the singer?” This one’s a bit of a cheat. Aimsey knows where the singer – Wil, Tubbo said, his name is Wil – is. He’s teaching music at a community center two towns over. Aimsey got a couple guitar lessons from him. He had that same tattoo, the one Eret has on their inner wrist.
“Dunno,” Eret sighs, erasing a line, “We didn’t part on the best of terms.” She looks up from her sketchbook as Aimsey puts the tattoo gun down. She gestures for the banana. “Here, let me see that. We might be able to move you onto a different pattern now.”