Morrighan Kane | Ronan Lynch (madeforwar) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-10-22 23:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: morrighan kane |
WHO: Morrighan Kane --> Ronan Lynch
WHEN: October 22.
WHERE: The tattoo shop she works at.
SUMMARY: Morrighan remembers a very specific tattoo.
WARNINGS: Mention of death?
It was a phenomenal, egregious waste of money. That’s what his brother would say. Nevermind that it was the point. Pissing Declan off was the point of a lot of Ronan’s decisions because ultimately he didn’t find much joy in anything else. He had drawn up the design himself. At least, he had drawn up a rough sketch of it...enough that the guy he handed $900 to had an idea about what he wanted. He had described the rest in painstaking, grim detail until the artist had looked at him as though he ought to be on some very serious medication. This, Ronan thought, was not an unfair conclusion. As he lay spread out on that table with his back exposed and a stencil pressed upon his skin, he found himself at some semblance of peace for the first time in months. The images from his dreams were not going to disappear by having them etched permanently upon his skin, but perhaps he could have some kind of hold on them that way. If he made them part of himself in this waking, breathing world, would they obey him instead of attacking and ripping their way through him? Ronan didn’t know. His dreams had always been different than most people’s, but they’d taken on a life of their own more than ever since his father had been murdered. He wasn’t there to think about Niall Lynch. He was there to forget for a while. The hum of the tattoo gun cut through the air, and even as those first lines were drawn on his skin, he didn’t flinch. Not even the feeling of the needle pressing rapidly into his skin could rise more than a smirk from him. This might be his only tattoo, but it would be a glorious one. The celtic knot that wound through the design let him breathe easier, even at the press of gloved hands and the bite of needles. He didn’t even care if Gansey disapproved. This was for him. Every last bit of it. The buzz of tattooing cut through the haze of Morrighan’s mind where she was bent over a lighted sketch table, fleshing out the design of a celtic knot. She didn’t have any tattoos as expansive as Ronan’s, but she could almost feel it on her back when she breathed in deep. The sharp lines hid the branches of trees and wings of ravens and even a small girl with cropped hair lurking in the twist of vines. She knew every one of those dreams. Every fantastic, impossible thing...and every shrieking horror. Ronan’s dreams had visited her as often as her normal ones, though she’d never had precisely average dreams either. That, she supposed, came with the sensitivity she had to whatever other phenomenon was out there. Sighing, she scrapped the drawing from her board and took out another sheet of transfer paper, starting again with those familiar lines. She drew them with a loving familiarity, comforted by the intricate weave. Her client wouldn’t much appreciate a replication of Ronan’s tattoo, even if that was what her hands itched to draw. She would have to save that for another time when she could get everything just right. For now, she added depth to the weave, and tucked a strand of blue hair behind her ear. Ronan would have to wait. |