2007-03-06: You Do What You Love


Bunny_icon.gif Richard_icon.gif

Date It Happened: March 06, 2007

Summary: Richard stops by Village Ink to get some work done by Bunny. A date is made.

You Do What You Love

Village Ink, Greenwich Village

A little after 10 pm, and the shop is hoppin'. In the back, there are two people being tattooed, and the third chair of the shop is empty, though there are a few people browsing, who haven't committed yet. Bunny is taking a break after her sixth client of the day, doing some yoga by the stairs leading down into the apartment below. She wears her hair up in a hastily done bun, two pencils sticking out of it.

A hand plants itself against the plate glass door's handle, drawing it open and letting in a few wisps of chill march air to the tattoo parlor before the supposed customer lets it swing closed behind him once more. Richard's fingers push back over his scalp in a rustle through his buzz-cut hair as he looks around the place casually, pausing as he catches sight of the girl doing yoga by the stairs through the oil-slick rainbow of his shades. A grin just-curves his lips, and he offers over with a lift of his chin, "You know, one bump and you'd go down those stairs, Vegas Girl."

There's a shiver from Bunny as a breeze blows in and over her, however briefly. She really is such a baby when it comes to the cold. She's indoors, and yet still wearing a scarf! "Hey, y'all, close the—" She calls, looking over with a faint scowl. Oh, but wait. She knows this customer/cold letter-inner. "What? Hey. Don' be such a spoil sport." She glances over her shoulder toward the stairs. If he were a homicidal type, that's all the opening Richard would need. Course, if he were a homicidal type, shoving her down the stairs would be a little anti-climactic. "But I'm touched at your concern for m'wellbein'." She chin-up nods to him. "What brings you here, mysterious bar guy?"

At the response, Richard can't help but grin as he steps along over to where she's standing; the hand rubbing at his neck falling down to his side, a thumb hooking casually through a belt-loop. Apparently not homicidal - or at least desiring a bit more drama before the kill - he utterly fails to shove her down the stairs. "What d'you think? You said I should stop by and check out your ideas for ink, and so…" The other hand gestures about the room, and he pointedly looks about before looking back to her, "…here I am."

Bunny blinks, and then rolls her neck. It pops twice, and she drops her arms to her sides, then reaches over to hook a finger through Richard's belt loop. "Well come on over here, then, sugar." She turns, and leads the bar guy through the shop to the counter, behind which her sketchbook lies.

"Bunny. I just work here." Bunny lets him go once they reach the counter, and she ducks down behind it for a moment, fishing around. She comes up a moment later with a large sketchbook, and flips through the pages. "Ixnay on the egasVay." She flips the book open, and turns it around to show Richard a raven which looks as if it's about to land, wings extended to either side. The form has a gentle arch, like a lazy smile.

"Oh, a secret, is it?" Richard leans one hip against the edge of the counter, hand bracing there flat against the top as he leans over to check out the sketch as it's demonstrated, head cocking a bit to one side. "Hm," he muses, "Not bad… you really think that'd work for me?"

"Not so much a secret," Bunny replies, with a slight tip of her head, "As… somethin' that don't need broadcast." She glances around briefly, then looks to the drawing. "Too pretty for ya?" She eyes his torso. "I think it could work on your back. Do it right it'll look like it's movin'. Assumin' ya got tone."

"I'd show you, but I'm feeling a little exposed with all these people 'round here," Richard observes with tongue firmly in cheek; it's a tattoo parlor, modesty is not exactly a suit one wears to such a place. He twists at the waist slightly, glancing over his shoulder as if to look back there, "Hm. It could work, it could work. Black definately suits me…"

"Honey, black suits everybody," Bunny replies, before she nods to the stairs. "You need some privacy, there's other places. We got a private area." She leaves the sketchbook open on the counter, and glances briefly over to the browsing people. "How's the city treatin' ya this week?"

"Surprisingly well, actually…" Despite those earlier words, Richard lifts a hand to undo the fastened button at the neck of his polo, and he reaches down to drag the shirt up and over his head; he's got fairly decent muscle tone, lean, not bulky by any state of mind, just enough body fat to soften the edges. The shirt's draped over the counter, as he chuckles, "You'n me in private might lead to some dangerous thoughts, cute stuff, so for safety's sake we should stay down here-aways…"

Bunny's eyebrows arch a little as Richard suggests that being in private with her could lead to other things. "Look, I have self control. I don't know WHAT you heard about me, but I got self control." She turns and yells into the back. "Jennifer! Have you been talkin' about me again?" A moment later there's a laugh, and a reply of, "Not today!" from the back studio. Bunny's eyes return to Richard. "I have self control."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Richard quotes with a roguish grin back to her, his own brows arching slightly in a mirror of her own, "…although who said I was talking about you?" That said, he turns around so she can check out his back, voice raising as he calls out, "I'll stop by later to catch up on the gossip, then, Jennifer!"

"You will not!" Bunny eyes Richard and wags a finger at him. "You will stay far away from Jennifer." She drops that hand to her hip, and informs the man, "You will also be getting this tattoo. $300. Go. Wallet." She nods to his pants. Not that she's concentrating on his pants or anything. Not that she LOOKED or anything. (Even if she totally did.)

There is a large bulge in those pants. It's his wallet, of course. You have such a dirty mind. Richard's hand drops back to pull it out, a chuckle tumbling past his lip as he drawls out, "I suppose I can afford that. What, right now?"

I do not have a dirty mind. You have a dirty mind, and it just sort of spreads. DIRTY. "Yeah, right now." Bunny eyes the wallet. "No time like the dang present."

"What, you got rent to pay or something?" Hey, there's money in that wallet. Apparently a good amount, because there's still a hundred dollar bill underneath after he peels off three benjamins and lays them down on the counter, tucking the money back in the leather wallet and pushing it back into his jeans pocket. A tilt of his head grins back over his shoulder to her, "What the hell, though. If you screw up, though, I officially blame you being kinda hot on my hasty decision."

"Or something," Bunny replies, watching the wallet. She follows the money, picks it up, folds it, and slides it down her bra. "Heat bill and groceries." She blinks then. "I'm kinda hot because you're hasty? What?" She eyes him. "Are you drunk? Because if you are, you'll bleed too much." She crooks a finger, and steps back into the studio.

"No, because I'm deciding this on the spur of the— nevermind, you're just trying to confuse me now," Richard smirks— snagging the shirt from the counter and stepping along after her, a brow quirking at the direction of the money's disappearance. "Nice cash register."

"Don' poke fun. I'm a Southern girl," Bunny replies, despite actually being a Southwestern girl. "You're about ta go under my needles. I suggest you behave, sugar." They pass 2 tattoo stations, and the women working at them pause to look up at Richard and Bunny as the two go by, aaaall the way to the one in the back, around a slight bend. The tattoo machine is a leopard print motif. And so is the leather on her stool. You can take the girl out of Vegas, but…

A casual nod is offered to each of the other tattooists as they pass by (as he tries to figure out which one is Jennifer) before he follows Bunny around the bend to her station. "Leopard print, huh?" Richard glances to her as if sizing her up for something, one brow raising slightly.

Bunny turns, and snaps on a pair of black gorilla gloves. Dark, delicate brows arch. "Yeah." She glances down to the stool, and then back up to Richard. "What?" Nope, no overt signs of trailer trash, unless you count a silver skull and crossbones ring in the dish on her station, and the bottle blonde hair. And the leopard print.

"Face down on the table," Bunny replies, after a moment of silence, eyeing that grin. She pulls a fresh covering across the table, then steps back to let him situate himself, and goes to prepare her tray, and line up the sterile instruments. "Sugar, you ain't a very good liar." She glances over briefly, then selects a specific black ink.

"I sure am," he answers casually, stepping over to the table and laying down upon his stomach; resting his brow on folded arms, eyes closing as he murmurs, "Soon as I have somethin' worth lying about, Vegas Girl…"

"Sugarlump, what did we say about callin' me Vegas?" Bunny reminds him with a chiding tone, before she slides her tray over and moves to stand over him. She doesn't apply a stencil. "You ready?" The needle is dipped, and she leans over, one hand on his back, the other readying the machine. There's a buzz, and she hovers over his skin for but a moment before she begins. So much for waiting.

"I can't call you 'Bunny'," observes Richard in a low murmur, his eyes closing, "It makes me picture you in rabbit ears and one of those little Playboy leotards." After a moment, he allows, "…ready."

Bunny shakes her head slightly, skillful hands working over his skin, applying a thin, even outline for the tatt. "That ain't funny. You get that mental image outta your head right now." She's teasin' even though the words sound put out. Really it doesn't seem very likely there's much that makes her mad. "You been up ta anythin' run 'round these parts this week?" Small talk time.

"Just the usual," Richard admits quietly, his voice holding just that -edge- of tension that one expects from a first-time tattoo recipient trying to pretend they're not nervous, holding as still as he can, "Starting mob wars, stealing priceless treasures, giving them away… I like to live a full life." A casual drawl, then, "You wanna give me a better image to replace it?"

"No." Bunny replies to his last question first. There's a bit of a pause before she asks, "Did you say mob wars?" The ink bearing implement ingrains the ink into his flesh, biting into the skin. It burns more than it hurts. Eventually, it'll become a background pain, except when she hits certain spots.

"I was— nnh— joking," Richard observes dryly, although it becomes less dry as that burning sensation works its way into his back, and he falls quiet for a moment. Maybe he's just focusing on things to keep away the pain. Maybe he's thinking up other mental images. Oh no!

"Hey, you know where I'm from," Bunny replies, working her way down his back, then to the other side. "Stranger things have happened." Boy that is the understatement of the century. "Then again, you ain't really the type looks like he'd be startin' wars." Her hands are warm, even through the gloves, as she manhandles his skin and etches ink into it. "Now, this is gonna be hard ta take care of all on your lonesome. You got somebody as can check it for ya every day ta make sure it ain't infected?"

"Mm-mm." A quiet sound of refutation, followed by the casual admission, "Just moved into town, myself. Don't exactly have a lot've friends handy to check that sort've thing out for me— at least none that're on half-naked terms with— ow, shit— me."

"Well, then I guess you better drop by here, huh?" Bunny pauses to wipe down his skin, clearing away blood drops and excess ink. Was that a sly way of checking to see if he's got a girlfriend or a boyfriend? Boy, she's sneaky. "Ain't right you should hafta do it all on your own, bein' new ta th' big city and all."

"That could get awful dangerous, y'know," mentions Richard to the sneaky one, "Given that you might be here, and me an' Jennifer just might get to some talking…"

"Jennifer knows what's good for her, she wont say jack," replies the assured Bunny. She finishes the general outline, and switches to a shader, and a different ink. It takes a moment, and gives Richard a bit of a rest. "I live in the building. In the winter, I'm just about always here anyhow."

It's a welcome rest, and Richard exhales a bit of a sigh of relief; shoulders shifting a bit as he tries to force the nervous-pained tension out, toes uncurling within his shoes. "Well, then," he murmurs, "How often you think I should stop by to let you check on it…?"

"You come by as often as ya pass with way, sugar. Hours is noon ta midnight every day, but I take off Sunday an' Mondays. Still, it's too frickin' cold outside for me ta wander much." She really does have a hate-on for winter weather. "I guess it's s'posed ta warm up soon." Bunny hmms. "I'll write my cell on that business card. You can let me know when y'all comin' this way."

A smile just-curves to his bicep, as he notes curiously, "Don't ever go out for dinner and a movie, babe? That's a cryin' shame, there…"

"Sometimes, but only if it ain't snowin'." Bunny says that in such a way that it's clear she is not a fan of the snow. Evil white death! "Plus it better be a good movie or some good company."

"I see." After a few moments, Richard suggests, "How's Saturday sound? Barring weather. 'Course."

Bunny dips the shader, and bends over Richard's back. "You pay, and buy me the expensive, over priced sour patch kids, Reeces, and popcorn with an Icee, you got yourself a deal. But you gotta smuggle in some hot chocolate, too." She might need to write him a contract to remember all that! "And the movie can't suck." Bzzzzz goes the machine. Once again, his flesh is assaulted.

Richard exhales a soft chuckle, allowing, "If the movie sucks, I'll forfeit my rights to the good-night… ow, shit, mnmm." The complaints muffled into a 'mmnm' as he shuts up before he sounds like a pussy, biting lightly against his lower lip and holding still again.

Bunny just grins, though Richard would be hard pressed to see it, from his position. "Sorry, sugar." She pulls his skin tight with one hand, and applies the ink with the other. "DIdn't quite catch that last part."

At that, Richard grunts a bit. "Nothin'."

"That's what I thought," Bunny replies, a smugness in her tone. She chuckles and tells him, "Don't feel bad, sugar. You're doin' real well. I've had bikers pass out on my table."

"Poor bastards," Richard murmurs in rueful tones, "Dare I ask what you did to 'em afterwards?"

"This is a place of business, sugarplum." Bunny replies, in a very stern tone. "Ain't nothin' ta be done with 'em." Except take embarrassing photos.

"Uh huh. Or alter tattoos to say the wrong name. Or put makeup on 'em and use the photos as blackmail material…" Richard drawls, "I know your sort."

"I am shocked an' appalled you think I'd do somesuch." Bunny smirks quietly and continues to shade the feathers. "You think you know my 'sort', huh?" She shakes her head and wipes over his skin again, smearing ink and blood. "Ain't very flatterin'."

At that, another soft chuckle. "Women," he murmurs, "In general. Evil creatures, an' yet they're just too tempting to ignore for long. It's terrible, really. But without you, where would we be? Gay. And I've never been much for assfucking."

Bunny has to pull back her hands so she doesn't stab him when she laughs. "Jesus, Richard, don't say somethin' like that when I got my hands on your bleedin' skin!" She giggles and gives his lower back a swat, well away from the tattooed area, then leans in to resume. "Women ain't no such thing. Men's all just too lazy ta take responsibility for their own laziness when it comes ta payin' attention long enough ta avert us gettin' mad over somethin'."

A grin's audible in his voice as he replies unrepentently, "Sorry." After a moment, he chuckles again, "Oh, is -that- how it works? It isn't you bein' illogical as hell at all?"

"I ain't been illogical all day, precious. Seems ta me that means the problem lies with somebody else," Bunny replies, moving over the other side of his back.

"I've been accused of worse," Richard admits. Silent a moment, he asks carefully, "How's it coming out?"

"Beautifully." Bunny's smile is evident in her reply to that question. "Of course. If I do say so myself. I think you'll love it. And it'll help with that whole sunglasses at night cool factor thing."

"It'd better be," Richard mock-grumbles, "For three hundred bucks." Of course, he parted with that money pretty easily. It must not be a big deal for him.

"It didn't seem too painful for you ta hand it over, sugar. So don't go gettin' all cheap on me now." Bunny leans over and asks, "How you doin? Need a break or can we do the last 20 minutes straight through?"

"…I could use a few minutes to take a break," he admits after a moment, Richard's eyes closing as he exhales a breath he's been half-holding for awhile, "Just a few."

The machine goes silent as Bunny turns it off, then wipes down his back again. "You just let me know," She strips off her gloves and tosses them into a red bag lined bin, moving over to crack open a bottle of water and take a sip. "You want a drink? We got Coke and water."

"Water." Richard's eyes slip closed again, and then he pushes up just a bit on his elbows, clearing his dry throat and admitting, "Never been huge on caffeine.. I know, weird to hear, but it's true."

"Some people ain't. Health nuts and the like." Bunny hands over a chilled water pulled from a mini fridge under her counter. She drops to sit on the stool, leaning back against the wall. "It has its place. I prefer water when I'm tattooin'. Less hand shakin'." She winks.

"I'm not 'xactly a health nut," admits Richard, twisting a bit to look back over his shoulder… can't see it, so he just sinks back to his elbows, twisting the cap of the water bottle off and taking a sip. He closes his eyes, sighing as it wets his dry throat, and admits, "I just like to keep a natural edge. Hard to do that on caffeine."

"Sure ya can, just gotta regulate the amount ya suck down." Bunny gives him a look. "So you ain't a health nut, but you got a thing about a natural edge?" She eyes him for a moment. "What did you say you do?"

"This," Richard replies evasively, eyes still closed and a smile against the edge of his bottle's mouth, "That."

"Con man?" Bunny smirks behind her water bottle. It's the first thing that comes to mind when a man gets evasive and wears sunglasses at night. She can't help it. She was raised in Vegas. Ok, actually the first thing was made man, but he doesn't have the ego that goes with that one. She ruffles her fingers through her hair, and reaches over for a lip gloss to freshen up the pink tinge.

"I've done that sort've thing on occasion," admits he, rather freely. Of course, he could be lying. Or joking. It's so easily admitted that one has to wonder, after all. Another swallow of water, and he tips his head to look her way with one eye, a smile tugging up at one corner of his lips, "I think I'm ready for the rest."

"Hey, who ain't, one time or 'nother. Can't tell the truth all the time." Bunny is blonde, she's from Vegas, and she grew up in a trailer. Honestly, layers aren't something she really looks for a lot of the time. She ain't dumb, she's just got her own reality she enjoys livin' in. And besides, her ideas of morality are a little more grey than most folks. She's just comfortable with people, whatever else they are 'sides that. She smiles in response to his smile, and pulls on a fresh set of gloves. "Well all right then."

"Only rules are the ones you make for yourself, in my opinion…" The water bottle's set down, and Richard folds his arms again; brow resting against them, he closes his eyes as he stretches out a little for her once more, "…you do what you love, and what gets you ahead. An' that's all."

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