BYRON & CALLI: DRAWN TOGETHER
The morning was cool, and Trail’s End was bustling with activity as the people went about their daily lives. Some passed rumours of the latest scandal with the Queen, but other than some extra hassle from the Grey Maidens when they wanted to get in and out of Korvosa, the troubles of the gentry didn’t change much for the people here. Two hooded figures knocked on the door of a small wooden building, and a large man covered in tattoos let them inside.
Removing their cloaks, Byron and Calli greeted Decca warmly. The large ex-fighter’s face was covered in tattoos. Byron gave him the good news about Gina, while Calli wandered further into the room to get another look at the art on display. There was a small table and chairs for eating near a modest fireplace on one side of the room. By the window on the other side was a strange adjustable chair that could allow the person in it to recline face up or down, or sit in a more normal manner, based on where on the grooved wood the back of the seat was slotted into it. Next to this was a stool, and another table covered in pots of ink, a tray of long sturdy needles in different thicknesses, clean rags, and bottles of sharp smelling alcohol. A bucket was tucked under the table, for those whose stomach struggled with the process. The walls inside the humble dwelling were covered in pages and pages of designs, ranging from small and simple black shapes, to large colourful scenes with animals and monsters alike. Their visit a few days before with Travis had been to discuss their designs so that Decca would have a chance to paint their requests. Travis let them go first, and then ushered them out the door to have his own work done. He had something interesting brewing.
“This is brilliant,” Byron exclaimed, “Decca you always outdo yourself.” He was leaning over the table by the fire tracing a page of blue flowers and snowflakes with his hand. “This is exactly what I had in mind!”
“Don’t go giving me a big head now.”
“Too late for that,” Byron quipped. Decca acted offended before joining him in a deeper full-bellied laugh.
Decca wagged a finger in his direction, “Joke all you like now, I’ll make sure it hurts more than it needs to.”
The Bear flopped into the chair by the window, raising the adjustable armrest as he’d done dozens of times before. Decca settled on the stool and started picking out pots he’d need. Calli picked up one of the chairs by the other table, and placed it where she’d have a good view of the proceedings.
It had already been explained to her, but seeing it was a different matter. Painting the ink over Byron’s fingers, hand, and up his arm seemed almost ritualistic. She silently thought a prayer to Shelyn to thank her for helping Decca find his true calling, as his skill at the arts was surely greater than what it had been in the pit.
Once the design was completed, Byron slid his magic ring on to his finger to complete the tableau. Very briefly the ring seemed to glimmer, and the swirling blue lines of the piece picked up that magical spark and spread up his hand. He made a fist, and punched at the air a few times to see if he could tell if there had been any changes. He looked at the ring thoughtfully, and then at Decca.
“You know we’re mates, right?”
Decca had been cleaning off his needles in the alcohol ahead of beginning the job. “Of course, Bear!”
Byron clocked him in the jaw, hard, knocking the man over and sending some of the tools scattering across the floor. Calli lifted her feet to avoid accidently stepping on any. With a wolfish grin he cheered, and then bent to pick up what he’d knocked over. “I definitely feel like I’m hitting harder, what say you?”
Rubbing his jaw, he kicked out at Byron from his stool, who took it without complaint. “Certainly hurts more! And this is how you repay me for work well done?”
Byron handed back over the recovered needles, and then added a stack of gold coins to the pile. “No, this is how I repay you.”
“You’re forgiven. But you’d better be careful hitting with that while it’s healing. You’ll blow out the ink and instead of my lovely art it’ll just look like you’d been fisting a Dero.” Byron cleared his throat pointedly and Decca added, ”Ah, pardon me, Miss.” Holding a needle in one hand Decca addressed his old rival, “Right, then. Now that we know it activated, want to work up to the bad bit or get it over with first?”
“Get it over with.”
He started at the fingers. First dipping the needle and then puncturing through the guide he’d painted for himself. Byron wrinkled his nose a bit when Decca worked on the knuckles, and after some time needed to stop and flex his hand a bit, but acted largely unfazed.
There was less blood than she expected. “What does it feel like?”
“Doesn’t hurt as much as being in a fight. Would take this over being stabbed every time,” the corner of Byron’s mouth pulled up in a roguish quirk. “But the pain can be very particular. Especially close to the bone, that’s the worst.”
Calli furrowed her brows, “How much less than being stabbed?”
“No shame in having second thoughts,” Decca offered. “You wouldn’t be the first to leave as untouched as you entered, and you certainly won’t be the last!”
With an forced air of nonchalance she waved a hand as if brushing the thought aside. “Oh no, I’m not afraid or anything. Just preparing myself, is all.” But she chewed her lip whenever she saw her battle-hardened friend give indications of discomfort.
It was a slow, meticulous process. She left and returned with drinks and snacks for them both about an hour into the session. The men occasionally stood up and stretched out their backs. They all alternated between casual chatter and quiet focus. Finally, it was finished, and Decca arced his back in relief, cracking multiple stiff joints. “If you’ll excuse me, you two, I’m going to step out and refresh myself before the next one.” He pocketed the gold and left out the front door, making sure to close it tight behind him and set the sign to show he was away.
Calli reached a hand out and Byron obligingly placed his newly inked one into it for her to inspect more closely. She gently placed her other hand on top of it, and cast a cure light wounds spell. Byron’s surprise was evident, as a week of heal time was suddenly unnecessary, and it felt like any of his other work. “I’ll have to bring you to all my sessions!”
She beamed up at him and released his hand. Standing she crossed to the other table, and from under Byron’s design removed another page showing five different flowers standing within a Korvosan crown. He followed behind and leaned over her shoulder to get a peek.
“So those are The Flowers then?”
“This is it! Some people think flowers are symbolic, you know. I’ve just leaned into it. Mine is obvious.”
“Calliandra,” they said in unison.
She continued, “A white snapdragon for Taylan. Strength and grace, these beautiful flowers grow in rocky areas and don’t mind the cold. But they can also be devious or deceptive. I do worry about his father being a White dragon. Those aren’t known for being very nice. Thankfully- he is. The dandelion for Travis- with a bloom for each stage of it’s lifespan. It changes drastically, just like he has. Some of the snobbier gardeners call them weeds, but they’ve medicinal uses, they’re resilient, and are a symbol of hope. Nightingale gets the bleeding heart.” She paused a moment. “I tried to find one that wasn’t so tied into our shared tragedy but it really is so fitting for him. A symbol of love undying, deep compassion for the suffering of others, sensitivity, and grace. And after talking with you the other day, I went with your favorite. The thistle. Strength, bravery, determination, and protection. That’s you all over. It’s prickly, but the bloom is lovely.”
“You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into it,” his low voice so near her ear sent tingles down her neck.
“I still haven’t decided where it should go,” she admitted. “I don’t feel like I should have it quite so obvious as you and Decca, considering my need to keep my true origin under wraps for now. Where else might a lady get inked?” She tilted her face to his, dangerously close.
“The lower back is popular,” he mused, letting his fingertips trail across her lower spine in demonstration, “so I hear.”
Her breath caught momentarily, and she set the art back down on the table and turned around to lean against it, considering what that would entail. She gave him a small, coy smile, and then her fingers moved to the laces of her decorative underbust. She pulled at the strings, undoing the knot, expecting his determined politeness whenever she gave him signals to continue. Only, instead of turning around, he returned the smile and waited. Heat rushed to her face and she pulled her eyes away from his to look down at what she was doing. Her blush made the tips of her pointed ears nearly as pink as her hair.
The room was silent aside from the soft whirring sounds of cord being pulled through grommets. The muffled sounds of people passing outside reminded them that at any moment Decca would return. But briefly, it was just the two of them, wordlessly acknowledging the potential that hung between them. She had his full attention.
The leather came away as the front door opened. Decca, smelling a bit of smoke and ale, closed it behind him again as he entered. “Ah, good, I see you’re getting ready. Where’s it going, then?”
She nodded, and locked eyes with Byron again. "I was thinking, I want it hidden from my parents, but I would like to show it off sometimes, so maybe between my shoulder blades? I can't imagine very many people getting to enjoy it otherwise, and I’d like it to be seen." With a grin, she handed Byron her corset, “Hold on to this for me?”
He gripped it with both hands and watched as she went to the chair by the window. Decca had dropped the armrest and lowered the back a bit, so she straddled it facing with her back towards him. She dropped the sleeves of the blouse off her shoulders and adjusted the top so that instead of a plunging neckline it became a low back. She gathered her hair forward out of his way, and then leaned against the chair back and waited.
The paint was colder than she was ready for, and goosebumps sprung up across her flesh. “Throw another log on, Bear, no good having a steady hand if the canvas is shivering,” Decca joked. But it wasn’t only the temperature to blame. Byron obediently added some wood with one hand, but never set down the corset. Decca carried on, “Now, Calli, if you feel the need to move for any reason warn me first so I have a chance to pull back. Don’t try and hold your breath, you have to keep air circulating, just breath slow and steady. If you feel faint or queasy say something. If you need some water let me know. If cursing or shouting helps you get through the pain, feel free, but mind the volume as I have neighbors. If it gets too bad we’ll volunteer Byron to hold your hand for squeezing. And if at any point you want to stop, that’s okay, too. You ready?”
Her life had been tumultuous, but through the chaos she’d found purpose. She’d proven her worth. Becoming The Flowers had changed her, and the city, forever. No matter what happened, she’d carry this time with her forever. She was proud of the work they’d done. Even if she were to be struck down tomorrow, she’d have left her mark. It felt right to honour that. “Ink me.”
“Ow!”