kremdelacreme | PSL for ombranera

From the time the doors of the Flying Lotus opened in the morning to the time it closed at midnight, the parlor was busy. The staff was popular, the flash on the walls was enough to attract even those that had never considered getting a tattoo or piercing to at least investigate. The windows in the main entry of the shop were wide, open and providing a clear view inside and out, and the men and women that were employed were just as much on display as the jewelry and art.

Qunari, elves, humans, and dwarves were all equally welcome in this place, and the employees were just as varied as the customers. For instance, the man at the front desk taking the appointments and greeting new customers was a young human, dimples and septum pierced and a hint of tattoo creeping up his neck, looking like watercolor paint dripped up nearly to his shaved hairline. He was chatting with a massive qunari at the moment that was leaning against the wooden doorframe leading up to a hallway behind which the sounds of tattoo guns, soft conversation and above all, music could be heard. The shop played its own Pandora stations filled with ecclectic musics, and today's list had been seeded by one of their most talented tattoo artists.

The sound of the bell over the door ringing as soon as it opened drew Krem's attention even while he continued his conversation, and he stood with an easy little smile to see who it was.

"Welcome t' the Lotus, what can we do for you?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's difficult to set aside large chunks of your past when they were literally branded into your skin. The Crows being what they were continued to be displeased with Zevran not being theirs and not being dead but he handled that as best he could. It meant hiding more often than not, but it was difficult to keep some things under wraps when, well. Their claim on him was written down his spine. THe lines were clean and clear, any who knew Crow work would know him for what he was, or rather what he wasn't, as soon as he took off his shirt.

As he'd rather get on with the business of screwing around without having to worry about being taken back? Something needed to be done. How much could be done he had no idea. The ink was black and hammered in deep- there was only so much you could do with black ink and any techniques he may have learned all lent his style to be- well. Crow like. He wanted out. The Flying Lotus came highly recommended from Isabella, apparently she'd gotten some of her more artistic pin up tattoos done there so, there it was he went. Covered from neck to wrist with a slightly oversized shirt, even.

"I was hoping you could do a cover up for me." A massive one. "it's...a bit large, the work I'd like you to go over- and truly I have no idea what it is I'd want to be done other than making what I have now go away."

The accent threw him just the slightest bit. He knew they were talked about all over, but even as far as Antiva? Unless that was simply a byproduct of a lifetime before. That happened often enough that he knew not to question someone's origin.

"How old is the original work?" Krem asked immediately, pulling up a massive binder full of information on not only the services they provided, but the rates most things tended to run. "If it's dark or old enough that it's set in deep, a fading procedure's available. Costs more, but makes coverups that much more successful."

"Ah...the first portions I would have to say are roughly thirty years old." Says the elf not looking that much older than thirty himself. "With additions made regularly until about two years ago?"

A massive piece. One he'd never truly wanted but endured, to not? To refuse? The consequences were fairly massive. He'd never thought he'd get so far as getting it removed but- a fading process? That would help. He stepped closer to peer into the book, lips pressed thin.

The qunari had been listening closely, his one eye narrowing slightly. He knew what this elf was. As he approached the book, the Bull headed back down the hall out of sight. They could hear a knocking on a door in the distance, but Krem's attention was on the elf. He looked...not uncomfortable, per se, but a bit unsure.

"We can help that then," he offered, a soft smile on his lips as he flipped the pages until he came to a section on the fading process. Magic was involved in part, and the ink would be drawn out of the skin. It would sting, but that was also where the poultice was involved, to ease that sting and prepare the skin for the tattoo that would be put down in its place. "If you want color, the man in charge of fading will be able to do that for you, but otherwise I'll be your artist. Unless you'd prefer another elf to work with you, that's easy to arrange too."

There was a reason Crows did all their work in house- the extent of their markings regardless of the part of the body and the range of ages weren't something most parlors would handle. On the one hand it meant Zevran had some training in the area- on the other it meant that the community was more or less aware of them, what they did, why.

Isabella had promised this parlor trustworthy- and it was her word that he would hold them to.

"Truly?" To be rid of the marks would be...he smiled, a crackling laugh wrung from him. To be free of the Crows was one thing. To be free of his own skin? It'd be marvelous. "Ah, As much as I dislike what I currently have- with my tone of skin blacks seem to stand out the most, yes? I do not know that I would take color all that well." Not for lack of wanting. On more than one occasion he'd been painted gold to accent the crow marks and that had been quite enthralling.

Krem's hand came up to rest on his jaw, fingers tapping there as he thought about it, looking the man over. His skintone was harder to put color on, but their premier artist was also pioneering a range of inks that held the faintest sort of luster to them, bringing out the colors a little better.

"Let me show you something," he said quietly, then turned in place and reached an arm back behind him. He pulled down on his shirt to show more of the tattoo there on his upper back: a watercolor-style laurel wreath, full of color with a muted sort of vibrancy. His skin tone wasn't quite as dark as the elf's, but being born of Tevinter did mean he was a little darker than most. The colors stood out nicely. "'s a few years old now," he said as he released his shirt and turned back to the binder to flip through it to another section, displaying some other examples of the same artist's work. "Man that did it's been teaching me to do the same thing. If you've got a design in mind, I can easily set up for you to see him, or myself. Spent the last year picking up his tricks, could likely do the same, if you've got patience for someone working slower."

"Oh?" Color on dark skin never set well from what the Crows used- but then they'd been using the same designs and variations, the same techniques and inks for nearly as long as the Guild had been around. Something of a signature, the stark pounding in of black. It didn't matter if they bled, if it hurt- especially since that was half the point. But this-

To take what had been done and make art with it. Reclaim his skin? "Beautiful."

A beat.

"The tattoo is quite lovely as well." He felt too exposed here. He would have to be further still before this was over and some small shred of him needed the control flirtation would offer. "I am afraid I do not have a design at the moment other than 'entirely different from what is on me', which is not terribly helpful, I know. But I would very much like something like that on me. However long it takes? Is how long it takes."

It would give him time to adjust to the changes. To feel out a little more of who he was now that he did not have to look over his shoulder quite as often.

Krem's brow hovered upward at that little flirt, but he was rather used to it by now, working here as long as he had. He leaned his arm against the counter. "Could have a photo taken of what you have now and work with you while your back heals from the fading process," he offered, flipping back to their section on fixing or just outright replacing old art. Their sterling reputation hadn't been exaggerated in the slightest, that much was immediately clear. When he stood back up straight, Krem retrieved a clipboard for him to fill out, a basic permission form and details regarding allergies.

"We also offer complete discretion," he added quietly, once Bull had reappeared in the doorway. He knew that look, knew how to read the Chief's face and what it meant when he nodded to a customer in that manner.

"It is not just my back." It'd be a simpler fix, then. "It sort of...all over? What you see of me now are the only parts that don't have ink on them, and even then-"

He turned his head to the side, swiping his thumb over his left cheekbone, wiping away the foundation that hid the swirls of ink there. "There is this to contend with as well. It can never be said the...artists that worked on me were not thorough."

But they knew that if the nodding Qunari was anything to go by. Was it a good nod or a 'we will have you by the short and curlies so don't cross us' nod? All he could do is fill out the form and go from there. Signing his skin away.

What other choice did he have? Live with it? No.

Knowing Bull, it was a little of both. But Krem only reached up and laid his fingertips on Zevran's jaw, turning his head gently to be able to get a better look at the ink on his face. His lip drew in between his teeth briefly, before he nodded. "Multiple sittings for the extent of the body that will need to be worked on, obviously. We can also fade this completely, or change it for you, whichever you'd prefer," he offered. He sincerely hoped that the elf actually could afford what they were offering him here, or he would have been giving the poor guy hope for nothing.

When the form was taken, Krem stepped out from behind the counter to take the Bull aside, talking with him in hushed tones for several moments, before he disappeared deeper into the shop to fetch the other man he'd already planned on bringing into the proceedings.

When they reappeared, the man following at Krem's back was taller, thinner, with stretched ears and longer hair, tattoos covering his arms from the backs of his hands to up inside his sleeves. He was looking at Zevran just as Krem had, then glancing back at Bull and getting that same look from him. Yes, they'd take on whatever the elf had for them to work with, and then Krem could work with him for the time it would take to replace the marks he so badly wanted to be rid of.

"When you've finished, step this way," the mage said after a few moments' silence. Krem would be overseeing the process, while Bull would be taking over the front desk.

A consent form? For a moment Zevran was genuinely confused before he recalled- well. This was not the crows. Such things as 'consent' existed here. He took the clipboard and filled it out to the best of his ability, offering what answers that he could. All the while he kept the artist, the bull, and whoever else was milling about in his peripheral vision. Old habits died hard and when you were likely going to be killed if you slipped up? They didn't die at all.

He paused over the signature- to keep on the name of the house that owned him felt off, but he had never been anyone but himself. Besides. It would piss them off for him to continue using it. He signed, offered it back over and was more or less immediately dazzled by the mage before him.

"Ah. Yes. Quite." To Krem. "Is everyone in this establishment devastatingly gorgeous?"

"Some of us are merely 'quite handsome'," the mage interrupted before Krem could open his mouth, chuckling at the tongue stuck out at him. Krem took the clipboard to glance over, noting the signature but saying nothing of it.

The room they found themselves in was wide open, airy and very mellow, the music softer in here. The walls were paneled in rich wood and soft, shallow carpeting that had seen the passage of more than a few feet quieted their steps. The door was eased mostly closed before the mage gestured to the articulated table on with Zevran would be resting. "If you would, ser."

"We'll have to ask you out of your sweater now," Krem added, moving around the room as his coworker did, each of them sanitizing their hands and pulling gloves on as the equipment was laid out, including a couple of crystals through which it could only be assumed the man's power would be focused. "And, well. Anything else covering the ink you'd like removed."

It put Zevran at ease, the banter. If Isabella could come in and sit still long enough for her back piece to be finished, they were of a temperament that she could stand and trustworthy enough to be that vulnerable. Which...he had to remind himself of after he followed them in deeper into the building. Marking the exits was habitual and settled him somewhat but at the end of this he was going to be in a room with a mage and a man, utterly naked.

To see it gone. To be him again- if he even knew who that was.

"Zevran." He offered. "You're about to see quite a bit of me, I think 'ser' is a little impersonal for that."

Quite a bit as in all of. The sweater came off, as did his shoes, his socks, his worn jeans- and the boxers he wore beneath. Crow work was, as ever, distinctive in it's style and as a Crow he'd never learned to be modest about his body. There was no shame in how he stood, hands propped on his hips so they could see the extent of the tattoo. The thick, black lines of his tattoos curled and coiled around his shoulders and chest, blacking out one nipple entirely and arcing over ribs, and hip, spidering out in abstract shapes of feathers and talons, beaks and daggers. As an elf his lack of bodyhair made the tattooing all the more obvious on his cock- that had been a fun five hours, trying not to scream- along his thighs and calves and the tops of his feet.

"...As I said. It is a bit large."

Neither man seemed to be particularly affected by the nudity, but both of them winced at a few of the various locations on which they could see ink. They were both familiar with the Crows' style, and their methodology, Krem only through reputation, and they exchanged a Look before the smaller of the men gestured to the table so that Zevran could take a seat.

"We'll work our way from the bottom up, if it's all the same to you," the mage said immediately as he brought out another jar of the salve that they would be smoothing over the elf's skin as they went. Krem was to be in charge of that, and he pulled up part of the table so that Zevran's feet could be rested on it while they worked. "You'll have to hold very still, but I doubt that'll be much of an issue for you. My name is Dorian, by the way, if there are to be proper introductions. And this charming young man is Cremisius."

Well, they had not balked. That was something. Zevran shrugged and pulled himself up onto the table, stretching out as requested. Bottom up- the feet hadn't been so bad compared to some of the rest. The removal may not be so uncomfortable.

The trouble would come from the salve and the being naked and touched by two men in a way that wasn't involved with sex and trying to divorce it from every other situation that was similar in his past. None of them ended well. He was not to be bound to the table so that should help a bit with the reflexes and learned reactions.

Still, it was difficult not to make himself soft, small, and demure out of habit. Harmless. Pliant. "Cremisius? Now there's a mouthfull."

"Tend to be called 'Krem' around here. Easier that way," Krem sighed as Dorian got started, palms glowing beneath his gloves as he started to pull the ink up and out of Zevran's skin. It didn't feel like the initial tattooing did, but it was far from comfortable, more like a bad sunburn just after it had been bumped. Krem pulled a stool over for himself and handed over a cool wipe when it was necessary. Blood and ink both came up through the skin with the process, but much less of the former than the latter.

"Been around these parts for long?" Dorian asked conversationally as he worked on the other foot while Krem tended to the first, each of them careful in their ministrations, even as they worked fairly quickly. "I can't say I recognize you from the area."

Well that was uncomfortable. With his coloration he'd never truly had a sunburn, melanin was his nearest and dearest friend on the shores of Antiva. But it was not so intense a thing that he could not bear it. As predicted by Dorian, he held still, not so much as flinching or tensing up. If anything he relaxed more the further into it they went. Knowing what came of this, how it would end? Helped.

"Roughly an hour, to be honest." He hadn't even found a place to stay yet. He'd wanted the ink gone first and foremost. "As soon as I arrived, I came here. Isabella recommended me- I think you may have done part of her back piece, Dorian? Rivaini, luscious hair, massive...appreciation for skilled artwork?"

Dorian couldn't help the barking laugh at that description. He remembered the woman well, the two of them had flirted back and forth almost constantly once he'd started work on her. "She was actually some of my best work, if I recall correctly."

"Would've left you all of her contact information, if you hadn't turned down the offer," Krem added with a snort and moved to follow Dorian's progress. They were done with Zevran's feet and were moving up his legs. As they did so, the temperature of the energy radiating from Dorian's hands dropped, simply to keep the blood flow restricted as he approached the elf's groin. It was standard procedure, attempting to keep their clients from popping boners while they worked, just to keep them from bleeding overly much when they were having work done. The fun part would be maintaining that while Krem was smearing the healing ointment along the shaft while Dorian continued up. They would get to Zevran's back when they finished with his chest and shoulders.

"Alright, now we'll have to ask you to think of the nastiest things you can. Your naked auntie, if that applies to you," the mage announced while Krem snorted again, smudging the poultice over the reddened skin of the other's thigh.

"Beautiful work for a beautiful woman. She's the one that convinced me to try getting this covered." He had been certain there was no removing or repairing what had been done to him. The crow tattoo was something he could live without- but it wasn't ugly. There was a vicious beauty in the lines. What it brought to mind, that was what he could do without.

"Oh, that should not be so difficult a thing to manage." Naked auntie? Not entirely where his mind went. Not even to the initial tattooing- but rather what came after. Aside from a flex of the jaw and how his eyes went from theirs to a point in the middle distance just beyond Krem's shoulder, there was no outward sign of whatever it was he thought.

This was something he chose, something he wanted. That made all the difference, yes? Yes. Nothing would happen afterward. His cock didn't so much as twitch in Krem's hands.

"Good to know we've still got word of mouth working for us," Krem said thoughtfully, though he'd caught that little shift in Zevran's demeanor, and he worked quickly, moving on as Dorian did. He could admit to some curiosity about the elf's circumstances, but his stories were his own, not something to be pried into by complete strangers. No matter how the two of them touched him here on the table, that was still what they were.

Krem winced when the ink was drawn out of the other's nipple, leaving it red and raw until the salve was rubbed over it. The least comfortable part of all of it, he could imagine, possibly moreso than the removal of the ink in his cock. He couldn't believe that most of this had been done thirty years ago; Zevran himself barely looked that old, even by elven standards. The idea of it made something in him turn over sickly, and he wanted to know that Zevran had somewhere safe to go now that he'd arrived in Ferelden.

Again, not any of his business.

"Alright, we'll give you a robe, and you'll have a little while for your skin to heal before we start on the other side," Dorian announced as he stepped back, peeling his gloves away. He needed a break, himself. So much at once tended to tax him, and he wanted to be able to finish the other half of the work just as quickly.

"Everyone who asks after the tattoo she directs here- and many people ask after it as she enjoys showing it off." And he could not blame her, the work was exquisite. Had he anything half as lovely that was his to share? He would. And now he might depending on whether or not he could stomach the idea of someone putting needles to his skin again. Even if it was something he chose it was...there were memories best left undisturbed attached to the act.

They were done none too soon, anxious tension was about to wrack his body from having to hold so still, to have strange hands on him. It still stung somewhat even with the salve but he was happy enough to be able to sit up and pull on the robe. A layer between him and everything else. If they hadn't offered the break? He'd have asked for it. Begged, even.

"Thank you." Covered he feels a little less the thing and more himself, allowing a crooked smile to slip past his lips for Krem's benefit. He knew the look of someone disturbed by circumstance well enough. "So...know of any good hotels or hostels in the area? Nothing too expensive, most of my money will be going to this."

"That explains the upswing in business in the last several years," Krem commented, stepping back and stripping off his own gloves, disposing of them in the little medical waste container in the corner of the room. He looked back around at the question, brows arching up some.

"There is a place a few blocks down, fine lodgings for relatively cheap, paying by the day," Dorian offered, gesturing out as he picked a cigarette case from the back pocket of his close-fitting jeans, tapping the end of it on the heel of his hand. Krem lingered. He didn't smoke; Dorian could go ahead and he could go and fetch himself a bottle of soda.

"You want anything to drink? 's a machine in the sandwich place next door," he mentioned, looking back to Zevran. He wanted to point out that there was a much cheaper place directly above the shop that actually housed some of the staff here, but he wasn't sure Zevran would be comfortable lodging somewhere with a load of strangers.

"Mmm. Tempting as that might be- establishments such as that I am all too familiar with for former business purposes." What he used to be kept being skirted around, he wouldn't break the unspoken rule of not saying shit just yet. "Paying by the day would also become costly quickly. I hope to remain in Ferelden for quite some time."

It is no Antiva City but it could be home. The rain wasn't so terrible even if it was cold and the dogs were lovely and the people charming. He could manage. "You don't happen to have tamarind soda in the south, do you? Or is that a strictly Antivan thing?"

Krem had to think about that one. He nodded after a moment, though he rubbed around the back of his neck. "They make a sort of Antivan soda at one of the cafes nearby actually. Could see if they have that," he replied with a shrug, already planning to look up if there was anywhere else in the city that would put up an elf comfortably for an affordable rate. He didn't trust sending someone so new to the city to a lot of them on his own, though. "Will you be alright staying here for a bit? Maybe twenty minutes, less if there's no line. Ser Mustache will be back sooner, he can keep you company until then.

"You can ah... you can trust him not to do anything weird. He's with the big guy," he added, lowering his voice some then giving Zevran a small, rather awkward smile, lifting his hand on the way out the door.

As he'd promised, Dorian was back in maybe five minutes after he'd departed, chattering full-speed and carrying a massive folder that had various shots of the tattoo work that he and the other three artists in the shop did, something to pass the time before Krem would be coming back. It would give Zevran a better idea of what to put over the shadows of the oldest ink left behind.

"There's no need to trouble yourself if-" But Krem was determined and Zevran honestly did not know what to make of that. People did not do such things for him- go out of their way for any reason. He was paying for a tattoo not to be waited upon hand and foot. Isabella's 'they really take care of you' may have meant more than he'd previously thought. "I have nowhere else to be."

It was a little unsettling now that he let it sink in. No mission. No handler. No nothing. Why had he thought this would be a good idea again? He should pay and leave, find somewhere to hole up and-

What, exactly? He'd wanted out. He was out-

Dorian returned before he could wind himself up further, thank the Maker. And indeed, there was no 'doing anything weird', merely pouring over artwork and forming ideas. No feathers, no talons or beaks or knives or swirling arcs. For most birds meant freedom. For Zevran? He'd rather forget. The peices that looked much like stained glass held his interest, as did a good deal of the watercolor work. So many choices and he was not accustomed to the luxury of it- were it not for the casual company he would swiftly become overwhelmed. Anything. He could have anything he wanted on his skin.

The trouble was he had no idea what he wanted.