[CM] AUGUST - Tattoo Studio
Aug. 20th, 2007 09:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
standardblackIt didn’t feel right, sitting in the chair...but he was home now, and he’d take what he could get. Couldn’t afford to be picky, not when he couldn’t go back...it was a shame, though, for all of Achara’s gift of sight and the curse he’d let her brand into his skin, he actually wished he could have her do this particular piece.
The one he had designed...the one he had chosen. A definition of self that *he* had made, not her or Fate or anyone else.
Everything about the process felt empty but the pain. The smell was as sharp and sterile as the hospital, but it lacked the warmth that the humanity in a hospital brought, even if that humanity was laced with disease. It also lacked the delicate, spicy scent of incense that had lingered in Achara’s studio. The light was too harsh, the chair was too industrial.
But the pain and the bitter smell of ink mixed with the flat, metallic scent of blood...there was depth to it. The feel of the needle marking his skin brought him back to those moments in her chair...even if the buzz of the pen was alien compared to the sharp, rhythmic hammering of Achara’s bamboo instruments, beating the brand into his flesh.
But when it was over, Jack had what he came for...over the Asian characters was a character of his own. It might have seemed silly to anyone that knew the story behind the stylized number five that now branded his shoulder...but it wasn’t silly or ridiculous to him.
Nothing would have more than a passing grip on him...not fear, not destiny, not anything.
Whether it was five seconds, five days, or five years...Jack would always be his own master.
Regardless of what her eyes saw.
Muse: Jack Shephard
Fandom: LOST
Words: 306
The one he had designed...the one he had chosen. A definition of self that *he* had made, not her or Fate or anyone else.
Everything about the process felt empty but the pain. The smell was as sharp and sterile as the hospital, but it lacked the warmth that the humanity in a hospital brought, even if that humanity was laced with disease. It also lacked the delicate, spicy scent of incense that had lingered in Achara’s studio. The light was too harsh, the chair was too industrial.
But the pain and the bitter smell of ink mixed with the flat, metallic scent of blood...there was depth to it. The feel of the needle marking his skin brought him back to those moments in her chair...even if the buzz of the pen was alien compared to the sharp, rhythmic hammering of Achara’s bamboo instruments, beating the brand into his flesh.
But when it was over, Jack had what he came for...over the Asian characters was a character of his own. It might have seemed silly to anyone that knew the story behind the stylized number five that now branded his shoulder...but it wasn’t silly or ridiculous to him.
Nothing would have more than a passing grip on him...not fear, not destiny, not anything.
Whether it was five seconds, five days, or five years...Jack would always be his own master.
Regardless of what her eyes saw.
Muse: Jack Shephard
Fandom: LOST
Words: 306
