Ink and Flowers - 4. Finley

Actually, I had expected the warning tingle at the nape which had made me leave the tattoo parlor rather abruptly yesterday to return. Instead, it began to tingle in my stomach.

White cuffs and an equally dazzling white shirt collar peeked out from under Emmett's light blue sweater, accentuating the blue percentage in his eyes. And his eyes... They were rimmed with mascara and kohl, his lids glittered a little, and if I wasn't mistaken, he was wearing skin-colored lipstick.

Holy shit.

In the last two years of aimlessly moving from city to city, I had encountered a lot of different personalities, sure, but none of them had managed to make my stomach flutter.

"Hi.", Emmett said with a playfully annoyed pout. At least, I hoped it was played.

"Hi." With difficulty, I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. The air tasted of chemicals, cleaning products, a little like herbs. There was the powdery taste coming from Emmett's deodorant and hair styling cream. And there it was, the subtle sweet-fruity note that I had mistaken for room scent on my first visit. What exactly it was, I didn't know- room scent certainly not- but I thought it was related to the warning tingle, and if there was one thing I'd been trained to do, it was to listen to my instincts. Probably the only reason I was still alive.

"Tony's cleaning up in the back," Emmett said. "In the meantime, we can sort out the questions that were left unanswered yesterday." Diplomatically deft, he didn't mention my sudden departure with a word.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly nonetheless. Actually, dragons are said to be cunning and good storytellers- a polite euphemism for liars- but like so many of these things, that seemed to have been absorbed by my twin, leaving nothing left for myself. So instead of making some embarrassing excuse, I said nothing at all, just nodded at him.

The expression I had seen on his face yesterday flitted across it again before he pulled out the clipboard with the design of my dreamcatcher and placed it on the counter between us. "First, the most important question: where do you want it?"

I opened my mouth to answer, only to realize I didn't have an answer at all. I had been so busy trying to convince myself that a sleep-well tattoo was helpful and really necessary that any follow-up questions had been lost. Or rather, I hadn't even let them come up yesterday. "Uh...", I made, caught off guard.

Questioningly, Emmett raised a brow.

This was embarrassing now. "I was thinking upper arm," I said uncertainly, trying to name any body part at all, "but... probably looks better if it's bigger...?"

He gave me a professional shrug. "Depends on how accurate you want the detail. As for the effect, it almost doesn't matter, I can concentrate your ink so high that a circle under your thumbnail is enough."

I blinked. "Under the thumbnail...?", I echoed incredulously.

"Been there, done that." Again he shrugged and weakly I shook my head.

"I'll pass. Um." The glitter at his eyes distracted me for a moment. "Right. Uh, back. Right shoulder." Oh gods...

"You're a little out of it, huh?" A small sympathetic smile appeared on his lips. "Then we'd better postpone the other points until later."

I nodded simply, more concerned with not sinking into the floor in shame. His empathy tasted a bit like winter spice, overriding the fruity sweetness for a moment. It was definitely weaker than yesterday, but still enough to keep me alert.

Then, very subtly, the salty taste of Tony's magic wafted in. "Evening, Finley." he greeted, pushing aside the curtain.

"Hey." I nodded at him.

"I'll print this on tattoo paper real quick," Emmett said, turning away, Tony waved me over in return.

"Come on. Right shoulder, did I hear that right?"

Nodding, I made a sound of agreement and followed him while a printer rattled and squealed loudly in the background. In the actual parlor, Tony's magic hung thicker in the air, and that fruity-sweet note was barely there, but in its place was the sweat of the day's customers.

Tony fiddled with the strange chair for a moment, then pointed. "Take off your shirt and sit down."

I nodded again and pulled the shirt over my head. Six years of military academy and thirteen years of service had very thoroughly ensured that nudity itself no longer had any intimate aspect for me, but Emmett's look still made me blush fiercely. Then I tasted again his compassion and realized he was looking at my dog tags, not my extra pounds which the last two years of unsteady living had put on me.

"I'll see what I can do about the nightmares," he said softly, cracking a smile, his Adam's apple bounced.

"Thanks.", I muttered. I couldn't look him in the face, but the rest of him was no better. His white jeans fit perfectly and his sweater wasn't long enough to hide the soft bulge in his crotch. Suddenly I felt like I was thirteen, not thirty-three.

"Sit down." Tony sounded like a stern father, and I was a little grateful for that. "Emmett's about to be picked up, so your aura won't affect him."

Yeah, thanks for the reminder.

"Jake will be a few minutes late, gotta get gas," Emmett spoke up as I turned away to sit astride the chair. "Wow.", it then escaped him.

Lemony-fresh amazement burned on my tongue. On my left shoulder sat white-gray angel wings, shaped into a heart, meant to strengthen my own wings and make me fly faster, but that didn't justify Tony's cautious question about whether he could touch it. No, he was referring to the runes trailing down my spine, up from the hem of a shirt down to my tailbone.

As I approved, gloved fingers ran over my skin and he emitted a low whistle. "I have no idea what it says or what it's good for, but that's some damn powerful anchor magic."

Which was probably because the runes were anchored directly into my vertebral bones and would keep reshaping themselves should my skin get damaged.

"Strange color.", Emmett remarked skeptically.

That, for its part, was because the magical ink had my relatives' blood mixed in. Hooray for ancient rituals knitted in such a way that this didn't reek of blood magic, even though it technically was.

"Family tradition.", I muttered my standard answer on the subject, which thank all the deities was no lie.

After another moment of professional amazement on Tony's part, his gloved and Emmett's naked fingers flitted over my skin as they searched for the perfect position for the new tattoo, quietly discussing it as if I weren't there.

Finally, Emmett stuck the transfer sheet to my skin, but his fingers twitched when a rather loud honk was heard.

"Say hi to Jake's parents," Tony said solely in a goodbye.

"Will do," Emmett called out and disappeared, but I still caught a glimpse of his butt over my shoulder.

A great butt, I thought with a suppressed sigh. He went out with his boyfriend and his boyfriend's parents to escape my aura, and I thought pubescently of his lips and the bulge in his jeans.

Except for Tony's instruction to lower my shields, and then the hum of the machine, it was silent for a while- until my phone rang, which suddenly sounded incredibly loud in the silence.

"Do you want to answer it?", Tony wanted to know, taking the needle from my skin.

I didn't really want to, but the count of people who even had this number and then might want something from me on a Saturday night was in fact quite small, so I fished the phone out of my pocket at least.

Father

I grunted, put it on mute and slid it in another pocket. I really didn't want to talk to him. Especially not here and now.

Tony continued.

I was surprised that Father had my number at all. I mean, the last time we had spoken was when I had come home after my honorable discharge ceremony still in parade uniform and with a flashing new medal, and that had been two years ago.

"You're leaving your twin alone," he had said reproachfully. "You're throwing away your career." He hardly knew me, but I knew him well enough not to argue.

However, this sudden contact worried me. What did he want?

"Hold still.", Tony grumbled behind me.

"Sorry.", I muttered, even though I hadn't fidgeted at all.

"Boy, when your muscles twitch like that, I can't work."

"Sorry.", I repeated and took a deep breath, consciously relaxing. My fingers still twitched once more. My dragon-me wanted to fly to relieve stress. When was the last time I had done that? On that mission in the Andes that went horribly wrong, or after?

"Finley. Shall we take a break and you tell me what's making you nervous?" The hum of the machine died and I sighed, slumped a little.

"My father called," I said hesitantly, not knowing what to say.

"You don't have a particularly good relationship?"

"No."

"Hmm. Neither do Emmett and his parents."

"Is that why he lives with you?"

"Uh-huh."

I glanced over my shoulder and met his probing gaze. My question had already been daring by my standards, but Tony's question made it seem childish.

"Do you like Emmett?"

"Excuse me?" Taken off guard, I blinked at him, but probably my face said enough; by the feel of it, it had to be bright red.

"I saw the look on your face." Tony's eyes were as blue-violet as Emmett's and seemed uncomfortably cold at that moment.

"I... I didn't... I mean, if... uh... I certainly won't... if he has a boyfriend..." My stammering was horrible.

"Jake is his best friend, not that kind of friend. But that's not what I mean," Tony gave back, his voice cold to match his eyes. "You're dangerous and Emmett is sensitive."

Somehow I expected more, but he seemed to have already said it all. I didn't get to hear a classic threat a la 'harm a hair on my nephew's head or break his heart and I'll rip you apart,' but presumably the witch with anchor magic was aware that would have been ridiculous.

The strong salty taste of Tony's magic in the air almost made me sick to my stomach as I swallowed and nodded. "I wasn't planning on doing anything at all," I brought out.

He nodded curtly and continued.

~

Out here on the outskirts of town, even on a Saturday night, it was exceptionally quiet and I encountered few people as I trudged home. I could still feel the scratch of the needle under my skin- which was imagination- and Tony's piercing gaze. The salty taste of his magic stuck in the back of my throat, and although I was hungry, it spoiled the prospect of a late dinner.

I had just taken a first deep drag from my second cigarette when my phone rang. When it said Father on the display again, I screwed up my face and answered it. "Good evening, Father." With that, I blew more and denser smoke into the air than could have come from the cigarette alone.

"Finley." Father's voice was as authoritative as ever. "Where are you this time?"

I raised a brow. Such a question was not one I had expected. "St Beatrice.", I answered obediently nonetheless. "North Carolina."

"East Coast." he said a little snidely. Something clanged in the background. "Your mother let me know you still don't have your own hoard."

Now I was grimacing for real. "Alfred doesn't have one yet either." That was a pathetic argument, I knew it myself. Yes, my brother might be ten years older than me, and even forty-three is practically nothing considering the lifespan of a dragon, but most of us find something to awaken our natural instinct to hoard already as teenagers.

"You're stronger than Alfred." That was news to me. "And since you've been wandering around like a gypsy for quite some time, you should be encountering more new things."

A sigh escaped me. "I'm sorry, Father." I wasn't, but he wouldn't have accepted any other answer. He wanted me to do something useful- even if it was just coming home to shepherd nephews, nieces, and other minor relatives. But I couldn't do that. He might have told me that I was stronger than Alfred, whom I would have ranked third in strength among the siblings of my generation, but I was not a typical dragon and did not fit in with my family. I had no real place in the huge estate.

"Your mother and I expect you home for the winter solstice."

"Yes, Father."

He hung up.

A hoard. What was I going to do with a hoard? And where would this hoard go? I mean, my father himself hoards glasses. Drinking glasses of all kinds made of the finest crystal, the whole house is full of showcases. My brother Carl hoards recipe books of all kinds and has bought a house especially for this purpose and had it converted into a library. My sister Xenia hoards everything that has to do with hedgehogs, be it figurines, stuffed animals, books or their spines. My twin didn't have an own hoard yet either, but that was a different story altogether.

Sighing, I cast a glance up at the stars. On my own personal priority list, a relationship ranked far, far, ahead of a hoard, but I didn't need to tell my parents that. And after Tony's comment earlier, I wouldn't even have to try to work up a smile for Emmett.

Probably it would be best if I got the tattoo done and moved on.