For Sist3r_Sin -- The New Tattoo

[red_peril]

Illya's eyebrows raised when Ivan's driver pulled the car to a stop and parked in front of the tattoo parlor. The sign was in Russian. It was not a place for hipsters and tourists to get inked. It was almost exclusively used by the Vor. The man who owned it was an old friend of his boss' from Russia. The driver got out and opened the door. As usual, Illya got out first, and then his employer. In truth they were more than that. By saving the old man's life, he had earned a permanent place in the family.

"Come, you have earned a new mark, Kuryakin," Ivan told him. He followed his boss inside and watched as he greeted the owner, Victor, with a kiss on the cheek and a handshake. "Go, take off your shirt and lie down."

He listened to the two old men talking softly in Russian as Illya went to the table toward the back of the shop and removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Sliding the shirt off revealed his story to everyone who knew how to read it. He laid down on the table on his back, revealing a couple of recently healed scars. One on his chest bisected the crucifix, cutting Jesus in half and angled toward his heart. The other, raked down well developed abdominal muscles on his left side. These were from the knife wounds he had taken for Ivan. His boss sat down in the back in a chair and picked up one of the Russian newspapers lying there.

The tattooist came and sat down by Illya, pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves and looking over the display of prison and military tattoos. The new tattoo would be different. Made with professional ink and the artwork would be better defined. The tattooist cleaned the area around his abdominal scar with alcohol and looked over the space. Unlike American tattooists, he would not be working from flash, but from memory.

Illya relaxed while the artist prepared his inks. Today he would be getting the Ivanoff family crest, held by a bear. A mark that he was a protector of the family.

Comments

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia had done fairly intensive research on where to get a tattoo done; she'd chosen one out-of-the-way, a place no affluent and apparently twentysomething white girl would ever have gone, but whose reputation among those that knew of it at all was impeccable. Sinthia knew exactly what she wanted, and came in with the calligraphy--her own handwriting--already done.

The bell over the door rang when she stepped through, the heels of her shoes clicking on the floor as she called a soft greeting in perfect Russian. She, unlike Illya, would not be getting an extensive tattoo, nor one that told anything about her life in such a secretive language. She understood all the tattoo meanings, though. It made her hesitate as she saw the shirtless blonde, eyes flicking over the ink on his chest as she read his story before she flicked up to his face. There she hestitated a second too long to pass it off as mere curiosity before she looked over to the tattooist.

"Zdravstvuyte..."

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The tattooist was about to set needle to flesh when the doorbell rang, and he stopped, all of them looked in it's direction. Illya was not expecting to see a beautiful woman.

Her brown eyes lingered over his body, and then his face, but she did not react like any ordinary Russian. Someone from the neighborhood, seeing his tattoos or seeing him with Ivan, would have backed out of the place quietly. Instead her eyes met his, "Privet." Illya said politely. Then he went back to relaxing his abdominal muscles so the needle wouldn't hurt as much.

Ivan looked slightly irritated but Ivan always seemed to look slightly irritated. The mafia boss greeted her the same and went back to reading his newspaper. The tattooist looked at her, "You want tattoo?" the grizzled old man asked.

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"Why else would I be here?" she asked, still in Russian, confident though her voice was quiet. "I'll wait."

She had a book to read, though she was thinking now that it would be mostly decoy; she hadn't seen anyone with that many varied tattoos of that sort in years. Sinthia could read them easily, though, and looked critically for a moment at the blonde's obvious boss, the man looking irritated; no doubt at having a woman not obviously Russian in his space.

He'd live.

"I like your tattoos. They're interesting," she says lightly, opening her book and looking up at Illya. Though he was not the most obviously powerful man in the room, she looked only at and spoke only to him, when the tattooist hadn't asked her a question.

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Ivan usually looked irritated about something, it was nothing new. The tattooist nodded at her. She could watch. And Illya didn't mind at all. She was lovely to look at. The chair she picked to sit in was in his eye line and he could observe her without moving.

"Spasibo," he said inclining his head toward her. Ivan gave him a little glare. Illya knew better than to get too friendly with a stranger. "You are new in the neighborhood?" he asked. It was a polite way of saying he'd not seen her around before.

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"I'm new to a lot of places," she said lightly, crossing her knees with a soft smile at Illya, shaking her head and brushing her hair back from her face. He was handsome, and she knew he was a prison escapee--and she didn't care, either--and she wanted to know more.

She was dressed nicely for a single woman in this neighborhood; light tan trousers, heels, and a baby-blue sweater complemented her coloring nicely. But, for all that she looked harmless as a kitten, she could--and would, if assaulted--kill. Easily.

"My name is Sinthia. What's yours?"

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"Illya. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sinthia," the smile turned into a grimace as he jumped a little when the needle first touched his skin. The tattooist laughed.

Ivan chuckled from behind the newspaper, "That is what you get for not paying attention and flirting with attractive women." An eyebrow cocked at the younger man.

The second time it touched his skin, he was ready for it. Keeping his stomach muscles relaxed. "What is wrong with flirting with a beautiful woman?" Illya asked. He was sure the old man had flirted with plenty in his day.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Your boss might be harder pressed to tell you what is right with it, he doesn't seem to have ever done it," Sinthia noted, voice pitched towards indifference as she flicked a glance towards the tattooist, watching the ink embed into Illya's skin. She wondered what the design might be.

"Or he's always this exceptionally rude." She could play the power games as well as anyone, and was already showing no respect to Ivan by not looking at him or deferring to him in conversation. It might have marked her for a young American woman completely out of her depth, but she was so much more than that. "You're a flatterer. Calling me beautiful so quickly."

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The older man tsked at the young woman's own rudeness. She had to be an American. "I am happily married and have five grandchildren," Ivan said from behind his newspaper his tone purposely indifferent. "I have done my share of flirting."

Victor, the tattooist, sniggered a little, enjoying the entertainment while not being a part of it. The bear, a fairly realistic one was slowly taking shape beneath the needle. It was of far superior quality when compared to the prison tattoos. The art would take a few sessions to finish.

Illya was enjoying this, but didn't dare show it or say anything against his employer. Not that he would anyway. "Is it flattery when it is truth?" he asked.

[abyssum_invocat]

"That only means someone has tolerated you at least once," Sinthia said lightly. "Which guarantees nothing about your flirting. Only that for at least fifteen minutes your dick has been more enjoyable than your conversation. Sadly common." She toyed with the corner of her page, eyes showing amusement as she glanced to Illya's face; she didn't mind pissing off a mafia boss. She'd dealt with worse before. And Ivan didn't worry her in the least.

"Maybe not," she murmured to the blonde, head tilting to see the outline of the bear beyond the needle. "A bear, Illya? Are you that powerful?"

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Illya's lips twisted, trying not to laugh. She could afford to piss of Ivan, he could not. Though a war of words with an anonymous young woman was nothing that Ivan couldn't handle himself.

The newspaper folded down and Ivan chuckled, "She is fiery this one, Victor." He said to the tattooist, who was experienced enough to lift the needle from Illya's skin before laughing. "My Irena would love you, young lady. She lives to piss me off too," Ivan's eyes sparkled with mirth. The corner of the flipped back up and the old man went back to his reading.

"Are you sure she's not related to Irena?" Victor said before going back to work on the outline of the bear.

Illya smiled, "Ivan chose the bear." In the language of the tattoos, a bear would mean a safe cracker, usually. In this case, it meant protector. Though the little shit with the knife would never have got that close to Ivan in the first place, if his other body guards had been paying attention. Illya was not on duty at the time, though it had been a good thing that Illya was there. As it was, he had nearly been gutted before he managed to plant his own knife blade in the assassin's heart.

[abyssum_invocat]

"You must have a great amount of respect for him to let him pick your tattoo," she said, though it was a touch less flirtatious as she read over the other ink on Illya's skin. The multiple meanings of the designs could be confusing, but Sinthia was a practiced hand at reading them. She purposefully got up, setting her book aside, to lean down next to the boss' ear; in the meantime it afforded Illya and Victor a very nice view of her body's form, and heart-shaped ass.

"I may not precisely live to piss you off, Ivan, but it's a nice way to pass the time for an afternoon." Between that and watching an extremely attractive bodyguard be tattooed was helping calm her nerves; she'd been nervous since she first saw a strike brand on someone's foot. Sinthia wondered if Illya was his safe-cracker too, studying the tall blonde's face and his hands in bursts as she rested her chin on her balled fists. "The Micex and RTS aren't doing well today?" Sinthia murmured, lilting it into a question as she scanned the newspaper.

"By the way, no one in my family was named Irena."

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"Of course," he said with a boyish smile. Illya did note her fascination with his tattoos. Sometime he would like to show her the rest of them. "I would not work for him if I did not respect him."

He did admire the view as she moved over to talk to Ivan. "Irena would agree with you," the old man said, nonplused. "No they are not. Luckily, I have nothing invested there. Far too unstable for the economy. No? Shame that. Still you must come by the restaurant sometime and meet her." He looked over at his young body guard who grinned like a fool in the presence of this woman. "And if this young fool doesn't ask you out on a date, I may have to reassess his position as an employee."

Illya laughed, "You would not fire me."

"Perhaps not, but the restaurant can always use another dish washer," his boss teased.

"Do not worry, he would not waste my considerable talents washing dishes," Illya said. "Have you already decided what your tattoo will be?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"Maybe Irena has half a brain," Sinthia replied with a sweet smile, though after the note about Illya asking her on a date her mouth firmed as if holding back laughter. "I should. I haven't had good vodka in a very long time," she murmured.

She listened to the banter with half an ear, growing pensive for a moment until the question jerked her back into the present. "Me?" she asked, blinking.

"...Yes. I have it ready." She didn't actually tell him what it was, though, nor where it would go; it was not Vor at all, not even close to it, and she had the sudden flippant urge to know Illya wouldn't find it silly, though there was no way to be sure without listening to his thoughts.

All of a sudden she smiled a little, more reserved than the obvious teasing she'd been doing, but more genuine for all that. "Maybe if you go out with me you'll see it." She'd just neatly circumvented him having to ask her.

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"Ah and we were becoming such friends there. Irena has a whole brain. She is quite smart enough to get me to do all the work all these years," Ivan said. "Depravity! You must come at once, we have the best vodka."

Illya smiled up at her, "You must go out with me. How else will you see the rest of my tattoos?" She had not seen his back nor his legs yet.

[abyssum_invocat]

She didn't bother hiding a little laugh at that, shaking her head just enough that her loose hair swung against her back and a few locks draped over one shoulder.

"Do you have that many more?" Sinthia asked, not hiding the fact that she very much wanted to know the story they told, but not mentioning she knew there was another beyond the simple symbolism most people assumed. "Are they all as important as the bear?"

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He smiled, hearing her laugh and watching her beautiful dark hair move around her. "Quite a few. Not all are as important as the bear, but some."

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"Some?" she asks, head tilting. "Could you tell me what they're all for?" she asks, straightening up and playing very well the part of the curious outsider.

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"Of course, but only if you go out on at least one date with me," he said.

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That got the same kind of soft smile from Sinthia as she dropped her eyes, momentarily shy.

"Alright. At least one date," she says. "Tattoos and vodka, hm?"

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"Da. Then you can show me your tattoo and I will show you mine."

"That's enough for today," the Tattooist said, setting aside his instrument and shaking out his hand. The outline of the bear holding a shield was done as well as some of the preliminary shading.

"Do you want to come get better look before he covers it with a bandage?" Illya asked her.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Yes," she said, nodding as she crossed to where Illya was still sitting, examining the new tattoo outline, fascinated by the artwork and the symbols surrounding it. "It's beautiful work."

She flicked a glance up at Illya, wetting her lips as she watched his face. "I look forward to seeing it done." Sinthia gave him a smile, and reached into her pocket for a scrap of paper, writing out a quick series of digits and a short note in Cyrillic script, telling him to call her.

"So you can find me again if I'm not at the restaurant."

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"Da," he was quite pleased with it. Then he accepted the piece of paper and quickly read the note. If anything his smile got bigger. He folded it and put it carefully in a pants pocket. "Spasibo. I look forward to seeing you again."

The tattooist covered the work with some ointment and a bandage. After which he let Illya get up and put his shirt and tie back on. While he did it, he turned his back to her, giving her a split second look at the extent of his other tattoos across his broad, muscular back. When he turned back around, he put his jacket back on and gave her a grin.

Ivan got up and folded his newspaper and laid it aside. "It was a pleasure to meet you, young lady. I like a woman with a little fire, it keeps me on my toes. Come, Illya."

The bodyguard obediently followed his employer out of the tattoo parlor. The driver ran around the car to open the door for them. Before getting into the car, Ivan stopped for a moment. "Listen, Illya, you are like a son to me and I would not tell you what to do with your life when you are not on duty, but you be careful around this woman if you see her again. She is not family, you understand?"

"Yes," he watched Ivan get into the car, but he risked a glance back at the tattoo parlor before getting in himself. He fully intended to see her again.

[abyssum_invocat]

When Illya turned his back to her, Sinthia's fascinated face fell, revealing a cool analytic expression as she read the tattoos there too. They told quite the story, but she had nothing more than faint surprise showing by the time the Russian blond had turned around.

To Ivan Sinthia only nodded, the first and only minor show of respect she'd given the man as he left. The tattooist gave her time to get settled in the chair, arranging so he could place the ink design where she wanted. It wouldn't take more than one session to complete, simple script as it was.

Several days--more than a week--later, she'd cone back from work outside the country and was sitting on her balcony, absently reading with her phone beside her. She'd never gotten a return number for Illya, which wasn't unusual, but it worried her. Especially concerning a group that so disliked women. The phone beeped, startling her out of her reverie.

"Hello?"

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"Sinthia?" Illya asked when the woman picked up the phone. It had been a little over a week since he'd met her. He'd been busy in the interim. "I am sorry I did not call you sooner, but something came up. Uh... Would you like to see the finished bear tattoo?"

[abyssum_invocat]

She smiled--she didn't bother hiding it, or the suffusion of pleasure through her at the fact that he'd called her in the first place--and before the pause on her end of the line could grow too long, she had to reply.

"Yes," Sinthia answered as the iron legs of her chair were pushed back over the concrete floor, "To both. I'd very much like to see your tattoo," she said, smile a little indulgent and a little excited on her end of the phone.

"Are you free tonight? I'm in the area," she lied--it was convenient. "I could meet you somewhere."