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The music pouring from the backroom was loud enough to make the floor vibrate right up to the door of the tiny tattoo shop, through which Gerry had just stepped. He smiled gently, and leaned against the counter to wait. A few minutes later, Nell and her last client came out of the backroom. The client paid, left, and Nell turned to Gerry. Her smile was wide and mischievous, and she pulled him into a tight hug. Her appearance was a stark contrast to his – Gerry was pale as always, his hair dyed in the same black as his long coat; Cornelia had neon green hair and dark skin, decorated with a few of her self-designed artworks. “What brings you here, little man?”, she giggled. Gerry, nearly two feet taller than her, pulled a few cardboard CD cases from his coat’s interior pocket, and placed them on the counter. “I… might have a project for you. Those are… some are brand new, payment, like… back when we were kids”. She shuffled through the collection, nodding along. “What’s it this time? Your hair is already black, although it looks a lot shittier than when I used to do it” – “No, this time, I’m actually here for the Great Artiste Cornelia, not just my buddy Nell”.
While he explained his idea, they walked over into the backroom where all of Nell’s tattooing equipment was neatly organized in a bunch of shaky shelves around a cot. “Quite the project you’ve got there… Maybe let’s start with a leg, and see how you take the pain” – “That shouldn’t be a problem… but sure, the leg first, why not”. While Cornelia prepared her equipment, Gerry put one of the new CDs into her player, and pressed play. He laid back on the cot, and closed his eyes. Of course, she hadn’t needed to ask why he had chosen this specific design – she had known him for ages, and it was her he had spent whole nights ranting to, when his mothers lessons and sermons about gods and monsters had overwhelmed him. This design probably just confirmed to her, where his allegiance had fallen. Cornelia drew the first stencil on his ankle, and once he was satisfied, began with the tattoo. The sting of the needles wasn’t as bad as he had secretly feared, and he started to drift away to the deafening music blaring from her stereo.
I saw the mirror staring back at me
And it told me I'm a self-machine
It said I gave you these scars
And I gave you these wounds
I told you the false
And I showed you the truth
The first few appointments passed in rapid succession. He wasn’t particularly concerned with giving his body time to heal, and Nell trusted him to know what he was doing. She covered the joints of his legs, hands and arms in tiny, black eyes. After a while, he even opened up a bit. It had been a few years since they really had any chance to talk, but the casual closeness between the two returned soon. He told her about his mother first, about her attempt to gain immortality, and about the consequences. Nell wasn’t particularly shocked – she had always known why Gerry preferred to come over to her house, instead of her visiting him. Then, he opened up about his own encounters with the powers his mother had always sought to bend to her will. Cornelia had known about his trips to obtain the books for his mother, but neither of them could have anticipated how close his constant search for books, knowledge, and later the librarian himself had brought him to the Watcher. He told her how he first felt its influence and how his own powers started to manifest.
But while Gerard was entirely honest about his experience with the dread powers, Cornelia kept silent. She covered his body in the tiny tattoos he requested, joint by joint, without talking about herself. Avoiding his questions wasn’t easy, but his connection to the Watcher wasn’t strong enough to make it impossible. And so, he never noticed how the papers and tools piled higher and higher on her shelves, and how the encroaching walls of the tiny backroom were a little bit more cluttered with posters, decorative chains and fairy lights every time he visited. Gerard noticed how she was covered with tattoos a bit more every time, but attributed it more to her style and skill instead of anything else. During his last few visits during these months, the music was turned up even higher than usual, drowning out every attempt at asking questions.
I'm not a human if you say I'm not
I'm not a human if my engines lock
And this motor that you call my heart
Is another machine that will stop
And the impression of my self-machine
The word was spoken and it was foreseen
Then I am powered by this gasoline
My eyes lit up as if by kerosene
When his last joint was covered with a tiny black eye, it took nearly half a year until he returned again. He, again, entered the dingy tattoo shop to the sound of blustering music. It felt so much smaller than last time, walls caving in on themselves, the ceiling barely leaving space for him to stand upright. He walked into the backroom without waiting for an invitation, and found nell sitting on her usual stool, waiting for him. “So… that’s the way things are going?” His voice was shaky, in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He sat down on the cot, and locked eyes with her. She nodded, without a word, her many chains gently clattering. “How long has this been going on?” This time she didn’t try to resist his prying gaze. While Gerry unbuttoned his shirt to show her the stencil he had drawn himself – one more eye, a big bulbous one right above his heart – she started to tell him her story. How her little obsessions and compulsions had added up, how her maximalism had become overwhelming even to herself, and how she had felt unable to open up about any of this. How the knowledge of her own failure had sat like a heavy stone on her chest. How the noose of her own inability and helplessness had tightened around her throat, until she had no choice but to throw herself into the arms of the power that was dragging her down.
Gerry watched her complete his final tattoo in silence. He wanted to scream, to drag her out of this cave, but he knew it wouldn’t work like that. Only when she was done, he looked in her eyes again. “Is there anything I can do? Do you… want me to try?” She shook her head. They both knew it was too late. She was too far gone, the only choice she had left was whether she would allow herself to be consumed, or whether to consume on her new master’s behalf. He hugged her. His long, slim arms laid lightly around her, and she dragged him in tightly in turn. With tears in his eyes, he got up, and turned to leave. Nell remained there, sitting in a tiny room whose walls grew ever closer, and thought of days past, while the music blared.
See constellations and stars
And the powers that be
Engaged in a dance
This robotic routine
Now are we two worlds apart or in between
A pixel lost on the computer screen