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]

"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.

[red_peril]

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

[abyssum_invocat]

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?"

[red_peril]

"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."

[red_peril]

"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?"

[red_peril]

"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."

[red_peril]

"Do you like art? The Met is having an exhibition of the work of Fabergé from the Geddings collection." He hoped she would say yes. Illya loved art from the Russian Imperial era. It would be his first opportunity to see a Fabergé egg in person. And it would be an entertaining way to start the evening.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Oh," she said, surprised by the suggestion--she'd heard about the eggs being there, but hadn't gone to see them. "I do like art, yes. And Fabergé," she added, French as impeccably natural as her Russian, or English, "That would be amazing to see."

She'd certainly learn a little. But the Metropolitan museum was quite a bit closer to her house than she'd let on. "Can I meet you there?" Sinthia asked.

[red_peril]

"Of course. We could meet out front of museum, if you like," he said, trying not to sound too terribly excited. "In about an hour?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"An hour would be perfect," she replied, unable to keep the smile from her voice like a schoolgirl with a crush. An hour would give her plenty of time to change clothes and make sure Avi--her dog--was locked safely in the apartment.

"I'll meet you by the doors."

After their goodbyes and promises to see each other soon, Sinthia went to find better clothes for a date, and with ten minutes until exactly an hour she was walking up to the museum's entrance, scanning the people she saw for any sign of the exceedingly tall Russian. "Illya!" she called, lifting a hand to get his attention.

[red_peril]

Luckily, his height made him easy to spot. Sinthia, on the other hand was almost hidden among the crowd assembling for the opening night.

"Privet!" He greeted her, "You look beautiful." He too had changed into more formal attire. He was wearing a dark grey Armani suit with a pale blue shirt and a dark blue tie.

[abyssum_invocat]

She, likewise, had dressed well enough for an exhibit opening: Sinthia was not wearing a dress, because it was cold, and she hated shivering. Her deep gray trousers were set off by a pretty blue silk blouse, the gleam of that material overlaid by sparkling silver lace, belted with silver ribbon. Her heels were tall, making her stand almost balletically upright, though they had no chance of bringing her to Illya's height. She didn't mind.

Upon greeting him and seeing his clothes she couldn't help a little laugh. "We match," Sinthia murmured, vaguely amused at the coincidence as she brushed fingertips through the fringe of her hair that lay tickling her eyelashes. The rest of her hair was swept back over her shoulders, held half-back by a startlingly real-looking diamond rose clip. (It was actually a brooch, and it was made by the same jeweler whose eggs they were going to see, but she neglected to mention that.)

"You've been busy too?" she asked. "I'm sorry if you tried to call me earlier; I was out of the country."

[red_peril]

He smiled at seeing her, "We both have good taste. It is alright we both have jobs." Illya had tried to call her earlier. "You look exquisite, Sinthia. Shall we go in?" He offered her his arm.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Have you been checking on me?" she asked, somewhat teasingly; she hadn't told him she had a job, nor what it was.

"We shall. I look forward to seeing what you think of the eggs; I've seen pictures of them, but never one in front of me, just behind a little glass." Sinthia took Illya's arm, laying her fingers on his sleeve with a smile.

[red_peril]

"Not necessarily. I called and you had message on your machine that you were out of town, so I decided to try back later." That she had a job, was a guess on his part and his own job could be erratic in it's timing.

"Me too. I have seen pictures but never one in person. They are somewhat like national treasure to us." They went inside, the museum was packed with the town's wealthy and influential. Illya and Sinthia blended in with the crowd easily. They waited patiently as the crowd filtered throw and they came upon the first egg display.

The the 1885 Hen Egg. Illya looked at it in wonder, a smile on his face. They looked at it for a few moments and then the crowd moving through whisked them away to the next egg on display.

[abyssum_invocat]

"I was, and for that I apologize," she said absently, gently shrugging. "I had a contract that demanded I be in Zurich." She'd found one of the higher-level overseers of the operation that had dominated most of her life--realistically, all of it until recently--holed up there, where he could live off the amassed wealth in a numbered Swiss account.

He hadn't enjoyed seeing Sinthia again, and had enjoyed less his messy end in the frigid lake, but thankfully had had no memory of her forcing him to give her the code for his account, giving her access to a considerable amount of money, and more information on his fellows.

When they came to the first egg, Sinthia stopped for a moment longer than the crowd, simply planting her feet and refusing to move, with the result that people simply flowed around her and Illya like water around rocks; she studied the tiny hen and the egg components, reaching up to touch the necklace around her throat. It was a double pendant, a gold and diamond replica of the Russian Imperial crown, and a tiny ruby-covered egg.

"This is beautiful," Sinthia murmured, looking up at him. "Thank you for bringing me here."

[red_peril]

"You're welcome," his smile grew wider giving him a boyish look. Illya recognized the necklace as an homage to the Imperial Eggs. "I am glad you are enjoying this as much as I am." When they moved on, they came to a display of the until recently, lost Third Imperial Egg. Next to the display a CNN article about its recovery was posted next to it. "Just imagine finding something like that in heap of scrap metal," he said in awe. It was not the most beautiful or most expensive of the Imperial Eggs. Certainly, it was the luckiest though. It had been sheer luck that it was discovered in a box of scrap metal that a man in the midwest had bought at auction.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Of course," she chuckled. "It's my homeland too." And Russia was far more familiar to her, more like a home, than Berlin had been, though there was no physical place she felt a stronger tie to than any other. "I can appreciate art in most circumstances," Sinthia admitted, scanning the article by the golden egg, flicking between that and the diamond-hand watch displayed in the gold egg shape. "Which ones do you like best? Of the eggs, I mean," she asked, sliding her hand down to take his hand.

[red_peril]

The idea that Russia was also her homeland brought questions to his mind, but he would save personal questions for when they went out to dinner after this. Illya's fingers curled around hers; her hand felt so small and delicate in his.

"I like them all. Though I am most fascinated by the ones that have mechanical components. Like the one with the little bird that comes out and sings. Oh, and especially the one with the train. The Trans Siberian Egg. The detail on the tiny little train is amazing. I think it is toward the end of the exhibit."

[abyssum_invocat]

"You're allowed to ask," Sinthia murmured, feeling his fingers curl surely around hers, rubbing her thumb over the curve of his skin. Her hands--her whole self--was smaller, more delicate, more lithely muscled than his, and she smiled as he spoke.

"I think my favorite is the Trans-Siberian one. I love the little train, and it's such a perfect miniature... I'd love to see it run." And she, unlike most, had the ability to do so, if she was careful.

[red_peril]

Her hand in his felt comfortable, "I will. When we are alone," he said back quietly. Illya was a very private person, partly out of training and partly personality.

"That would be something to see," he smiled. The next egg in the exhibit was the lovely pink Danish Palaces Egg from 1890.

[abyssum_invocat]

"This one is sweet," Sinthia murmurs, letting the topic of his questions drift into silence, though she wondered--and almost asked him--if they were planning on being alone at some point in the evening. "All the paintings of the palaces Maria would have lived in the Danish court, and the places she spent time with her husband. The one of the Amalienborg Palace is surprisingly correct."

She'd traveled to Copenhagen enough times to know what the Rococo-styled buildings looked like by memory, and smiled at the little watercolor panel of it. "Alexander must have loved her dearly to give her these things." The next egg in the collection was one of Sinthia's favorites; the Lilies-of-the-Valley Basket Egg, decorated with so many tiny pearl blossoms.