RP:Nildran-rose Tribute Tattoo pt. 2
Summary: Xiem returns to finish consulting on his tattoo idea to find a more relaxed atmosphere and to his surprise, Lita has time to create the piece for him.
SoulsKin
There is a faded message painted across this shop's front door which reads, abandon all Hope. It may be just cryptic enough to pique your curiosity... Two glass display cases dominate the center of the room, filled with trinkets and jewels from around the world. In the back corner, beneath the stairs that lead to a second floor, there is a bookshelf with a comfy armchair next to it. A low work table lines the entirety of the western wall, a couple of chairs and a bench sitting in front of it. There is a curtained partition, for those that might wish to have their ink work or body modifications done in privacy. The work table is usually littered with bottles of ink in various colors and sketches of viable tattoo designs. Feel free to chat up the artists who might be working if you're interested in having some work done.
Xiembantointh returns nearly two weeks later as he is enjoying his extended time off with his daughter over in Elimdor even though the residents there turn their noses up to his 'laborer' attire and sort of scruffy looks. He is in a different pair of denim slacks, but they look just as worn out as the other pair and a simple black short sleeve tee shirt. Of course he looks quite muscular for his 'age', but he can look like whatever he wants - so why not? The same work boots clunk softly on the floor of the establishment and he makes his way on over to the counter this time while he patiently waits for Lita to make herself known again. Surely she would have heard the door open.
Lita lifts a hand to wave towards the door when she hears it open. She's seated on the floor by the worktable, beyond the display cases at the center of the room. While the worktable seems to have been reorganized and cleaned, the mess has seemed to only follow her to the floor. From where she sits, dressed in the usual little black sundress, barefoot with her legs crossed in front of her, raven curls loose around her shoulders. She leans back some so she can see the entrance and she brightens to see Xiem has returned, offering a smile as she waves for him to come further into the shop. "Hi Xiem! Sorry," she glances around at the mess of papers and charcoals around her on the floor. At least the seats were clear. "Please, come on in and have a seat. Sorry, you always seem to catch me in the midst of some chaotic inspiration." Though the last time they'd met, she'd been more swept up by the chaos of people and that had been entirely unintentional. The backs of her hands, her forearms, even the skirt of her dress are smeared with various colors and her cheeks flush slightly, a little embaressed that she's not more put together.
Xiembantointh steps around the counter and towards the work table where the artist sits, seemingly surrounded by her craft. His grin returns as he looks down at her with admiration, “hello, Lita. How are you doing?” Then he pinches the sturdy fabric of his slacks to adjust them so he can comfortably squat near her, but mindful of the papers on the floor, “and would you like some help?” This time he asks! For a small second he notices how her dark hair contrasts against her skin and then he follows the various smears of color decorating her person. “Isn’t inspiration always chaotic? You should see the blueprint room of my office, I’m sure it looks just as hectic,” he starts handing her things from the floor that may be out of her reach if she doesn’t mind it. The flush of embarrassment is a surprise even though he casually pretends to not even see it because he's the guy walking around the rich part of town in what they consider to be labor clothes and that wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate. Sure, the dragon has money, but he’s never been one to show it. Xiem decides to ease her embarrassment with some old guy wisdom, “an artist friend of mine once told me that you aren’t creating art unless you’re making a mess.” He catches her gaze with a glance and smiles again while trying to help her contain the chaos on the floor.
"Not too shabby." She answers, in a rare good mood lately. Especially considering he was still a stranger and she tended to bristle in social situations. But he was kind and that was a rare thing anymore. "Thank you." She manages, shuffling and stacking papers in no particular order as he hands them to her. "I like the chaos. I don't think I'd know what to do if things made exact sense all the time." She's teasing, maybe. Dark eyes light up with a bit of excitement as he mentions a blueprint room. So many new questions. How many questions are considered rude to bombard a stranger with, she's wondering. She tucks the papers into the crook of her elbow and balances the few sticks of colored charcoal in the same hand, taking his hand with her free one and letting him help her to her feet. Except she'd completely forgotten about the fact that charcoal smears and there's probably some on him now, too. "I'm so sorry." She says instantly, turning to deposit the armful of stuff onto the work table and reaching for a clean rag. "Here. It's not permanent but it might take a day to fade completely? I'm so sorry." She usually wasn't so flustered. He'd distracted with blueprints. Such a small thing and yet her mind instantly wanders to all the new things which might be being built, which meant things to cover in new artwork. She sighs softly and her smile returns when he quotes his artist friend. "Smart, that one." She muses. She reaches for a sketchbook and a pencil and nods towards the couch towards the front of the shop. "Okay, I want to talk about this piece you want but first I have to ask, blueprint room? Do you build things or are the blueprints more of an aesthetic design choice?"
Xiembantointh wouldn’t admit it for he doesn’t like to brag, but he’s ‘mister congeniality’ and makes friends wherever he goes. Xiem always offers an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on and arms for the best hugs - only when the moment calls for one, so it is no wonder Lita doesn’t bristle in this stranger’s presence. More importantly, he’s an open book with nothing to hide and his body language always reflects that. “My pleasure,” he offers with a short chuckle when she thanks him for helping. “Ah, I know chaos well, but raising five dragons forces you to thrive in chaos,” there is another chuckle as his smile is brightly filled with pride for his family. Of course he offers a hand down to the dark haired lass to help her up with surprisingly strong ease for the old seeming guy and she will find his fingers still have those rings, but one of them is simple and it lives on his ring finger. Lita could assess that he doesn’t have the inner strength to take the wedding band off yet and if she pays close enough attention, she will see the faint outline of a necklace hiding under the cover of his tee shirt. He had been distracted by her to even notice she left behind some color on his hand, so when she frets he merely shrugs while accepting the rag, “a little mess doesn’t hurt anybody. Some color left on my hand is the least of my worries,” he explains while simply wiping the color off the best he can and doesn’t worry about the rest as he follows her to the couch. As always a gentleman, he motions for her to get comfortable before joining her. Her question catches him off guard and his smile is coy, “ah. I’m a contractor and own a construction company, Nildran Construction.” He won’t pretend she has heard of it because he has only been around the last four years, just making a living. “I’ve got a small office in Frostmaw,” and he lives in a shack of an apartment above it, but he doesn’t need much. “If you’d like, I can write down the address and you can send a request if you ever need anything built, or your business expanded upon,” if the last time he was here was any indication that this is a growing business. “Or if you just want to write,” his warm and kind smile is back as he turns his head to her before leaning in ever so slightly in order to look through the book with her while they consult on his tattoo. At the slightly closer proximity, Lita will find he smells faintly of sandalwood and vanilla.
Lita tends to notice things about people, though she tried not to these days, it was far too easy to slip back into those old habits. He still wears his wedding ring, but he's open about referring to her as his late wife. So while he'd grieved her passing, honoring her was still a part of him. The outline of the necklace beneath his shirt and the rings adorning his fingers tell her he's a man of some ritual. He makes a point to put them on, to ensure their safety. His clothes aren't flashy by any means but they fit, not too large on him but not the sorts of things you got tailored either. So he took his time to find something that fit, for form and comfort. All of this lending him to be entirely approachable. Coupled with the fact that he was kind and those eyes. The tattoo was the tricky part but when he'd mentioned it was a dedication piece for his wife she understood. Her own tattoos wrote the story of her life- a lily and the name of her late son across her clavicle, a black spade on the inside of her wrist for her past profession, a dual triquetra on the opposite wrist for the family she'd left behind and the new one she'd forged here. On the back of her shoulder, the silhouette of a pouncing fox for the beloved artificer and on the back of her neck, though usually hidden beneath her hair, an infinity symbol adorned with a lotus flower and owl feathers, a tribute to great love she'd known, including her wife. Getting that tattoo was the only thing that had allowed her to take off that ring, though she still wore it on occasion. "I'd like that." She says finally as he offers his contact information. She didn't have the best memories of Frostmaw but she was always open to making new ones. Lita will jot notes and maybe sketch a couple of rough things as he talks but she catches the scent of sandalwood as he leans close and smiles to herself. Tucking stray curls behind her ear, he'll probably smell her jasmine perfume hidden beneath the usual scent of the ocean breeze that filters through Rynvale. "Tell me about her." She urges him. "Just, talk, really. Whatever comes to mind. Tell me about how you guys met or her favorite place."
Xiembantointh doesn't notice anything about anyone typically and accepts how they wish to be seen or gives others the opportunity to open up to him at their own pace. If they choose to remain a mystery or disguise aspects of themselves that they assume others will find unpleasant, that is fine by him too! Hailing from such a cold place, and being a white dragon no less, it is a curious thing as to why his personality is so warmly friendly when white dragons typically lean towards the evil side of things naturally. Of course Xiem has noticed any visible tattoos Lita has, but those are all her own stories to tell and maybe he will be allowed to hear them in time. "I'm glad," he has no issue admitting when she says she would like writing to him because he has no time to be aloof and standoffish when he could gain a possible client, but even better, a possible friend. Xiem mistakenly thought they might flip through some of the sketches and he doesn't want to crowd her while she is trying to focus on sketching, although that jasmine scent is alluring. No wonder it is the universally attractive scent and he casually relaxes on his respective side of the couch while pondering her questions. "Her name was Nildran and we met in the early years of military service. Unfortunately she rose through the ranks quite fast and I was moved to a separate platoon. She was loyal and fierce as she proved to be quite an asset in war, but I became disenchanted with the whole idea because I constantly worried if I was even on the right side of things. Thankfully I was able to conclude my service and I gladly stayed home with the kids," it seems rather odd to most people that the roles nearly seemed reversed, but he was always comfortable with their family life no matter the naysayers. He pauses to look over to Lita and his gaze flicks down to her hands, trying to see what she is conjuring up this far. "I must interject that I admire your sketches, Lita. Especially the floral ones," he couldn't help overhear the conversation taking place when he was here last, but it is true. "I wouldn't mind in the least if there are flowers incorporated in the tattoo for me," he suggests with genuine sentiment because he isn't one of those 'toxic masculinity' guys who thinks things like that aren't meant for men. "Our favorite place…" he trails off, leaning his head back so it rests on the top back of the couch while his azure gaze gets lost in the details of the ceiling above them.
Lita is not surprised to hear that he'd named his construction business for his wife. Great love did that to you. Make you want to hold on to whatever pieces of it you could, for as long as you could. Even when it hurts sometimes. Just so you could always have the good. She doesn't look up at him as he speaks but she listens intently, forming this imagining of his wife in her mind. A warrior, strong in her convictions but kind at heart if she'd captivated him so dearly. And a mother, a nurturer, caretaker and provider. Her focus on the page is unwavering, even as the lines don't make sense yet, the filigree pattern, the knotwork, the cross hatched design with no clear pattern yet for where one ends and the next begins. Sometimes her fingers just aren't as fast or as clear as her brain and she has to remind herself that this is a rough sketch. She can refine it after. She does look up when he mentions that he admired her sketches and her cheeks flush slightly in quiet thanks. "Flowers, then." She agrees with a soft smile. "Does she have a favorite?" She's very aware that she doesn't refer to his wife in a past sense. She imagines he still takes flowers to her grave- or another special place- to honor her. That he would make it a point to take her favorite ones. In this way, she respects that they are still very much her favorite ones.
Xiembantointh had a long journey to accept things and grieve to be able to refer to his wife in the past tense because she has been gone four around three hundred years now. There is a side eye glance from his seat next to Lita as his grin remains because she is asking all the right questions. "Nildran wasn't picky and always appreciated any gesture that showed I was thinking of her. There were many times I brought a single rose home, just because and then her face would light up. During this time was the beginnings of my construction company when her military pension ran out and with the five kids at home, we didn't have much money while I was also away working long hours. I guess it didn't help that I was doing a lot of work based on trading services to help people out, heck, I still do, but it was different then and I had a family to support. I don't know if she was putting it on extra those days just for my benefit, or if she was honestly touched with surprise, but I still remember the way her eyes twinkled in those moments," he chuckles shortly before running his hand through his short silvery hair. "Our favorite place," he breaks a moment of silence because he realizes he didn't get a chance to answer the question. "We used to go off on our own once a year and rock climb in the wintery tundra of Frostmaw. I know it seems silly for a pair of dragons, but we enjoyed the simple way humans live and how they live to the fullest in their short lives." Xiem doesn't know if Lita is human just because she merely looks like it and just in case, he shoots her an apologetic glance. "Once we got to one of the plateaus there are these peculiar lights in the sky and you can see the stars twinkling in the darkness of space, but there are also these perfect blankets of snow and in just the right light from the moons it glitters in this bluish hue. It was like time stood still for a moment and it was impossibly silent." He feels bad blabbing on even though that is probably the purpose of such things, but he cannot help it as he asks, "how about you, Lita? Do you have a favorite flower or a favorite place to go with your loved one?"
Lita has spent enough time in Frostmaw to understand the beauty he speaks of. She might not know the specific place but she can imagine it. He paints it so vividly, she wonders if he's not a bit of an artist himself. She sketches an arc of flowers across the bottom left corner of the sketch she's working on, refining the petals into roses as he talks. It's nice just getting lost in it all. She doesn't usually have an audience when she sketches, but she sort of lets herself get lost in these stories he shares the same way she does her art. She almost doesn't notice he's asked her a question, in fact, only that he's stopped talking and she glances up to find him watching her, waiting patiently and her brain back-tracks for an answer. "Me? Uhm," she didn't talk about Hanan anymore, really. Not because it hurt but because people didn't ask. The few left who even remembered the Cap'n were far and few between. She pauses her work on the sketch to regard his question carefully. "When I was really young, I remember, my mom loved lilies. But they were expensive so my dad would save for months, it seemed and then for their anniversary, he would get her a single white lily. And she would keep it in a vase on the table for months and months, long after it had wilted, and then she would press it in wax between the pages of a book." The memory is a surprising one. It has been a lot of years since she'd remembered her life before leaving her childhood home. "But flowers were never really my thing. On our first date though, my wife brought me a sprig of purple heather. In truth, it's not an overly pretty plant. And she said, 'Don't expect me to be the sort who buys you pretty, fancy things, that's not what I do. But this reminded me of you.' And when I asked why she said, 'Because it is wild and it is resilient.'" She touches her pencil to the page again but isn't really focused on the drawing for a moment. "We didn't have a lot of time together. A year, maybe two. And then, she was gone." It has been years now but she's still surprised she gets through that last bit without her voice wavering. There's the flash of something darker in her eyes for a moment, something painful and buried, something beyond grief. She's no illusion or hope of a grand love that might one day be. She's accepted it just isn't in the cards for her. Surely if there were people who found it then there were also people who did not. "There have been moments in the years since but no one that's stuck around long enough for there to be a special place." She hands the sketchbook slowly over for him to see at last, the knight's helmet in its varied patterns and designs written in negative space. The roses are a stark contrast but not overpowering. "I'm thinking, no black. Maybe a dark brown for the helmet and then a varying degree of white, creams, pinks and reds for the roses?"
Xiembantointh would probably blush and wave away any notion that he is an artist, but being able to sketch out blueprints and see the possibilities in a run down building takes -some- form of artistic ability. With a knowing smile and a nod, he answers her question with, "mmhmm." He turns a little in his spot on the couch towards Lita to give her his undivided attention and there is something about his expression as he is actively listening to her story without any interruption. The story of her parents is sweet and when it concludes he mentions, "that sounds like a sweet true love." Xiem won't mention anything about his own parents ever, they were cruel and evil beings who cast him out because he refused to be like them, wreaking havoc on little towns just for a snack of human flesh. It really wasn't his style. The story of Lita's wife touches him and he finds a kinship of how a loved one can just be 'gone' while the other halves are left to pick up the pieces. There is a comfortable silence that follows the story as he observes the young woman's eyes and how they seem lost for a moment. Xiem expresses himself through touch and accepts that most people do not, but he listens to his instinct and reaches his hand over to gently rest on the forearm of the artist. His azure gaze merely meets her own if she looks back to him, he only has a look of understanding on his face as the moment requires no words. He understands that island where someone sees nothing but passing ships that cannot save them more than she knows and in order to protect one's heart, it must remain that way no matter how lonely it is. As he finds her voice again and the moment has passed, his hand moves back over to his lap as he nods in understanding. "I think each of my five kids wish I would find someone again, but that is just so they don't have to worry about me," he lets out a soft short chuckle while subtly shaking his head. "They really shouldn't worry, though," he accepts the sketchbook and silence fills the room as his grin remains, but tears threaten the waterline of his eyes. "Wow," his voice sounds a touch rougher as he glances at Lita, "this is perfect. Every bit of it," with a deep breath, he lets the emotion fade away and then he clears his throat. "There is even a rose for each of my kids," he slips up and says even though there are six roses, not five. Maybe there is more to the story. "Now… where to place it," he is quiet while considering. "I think, it will be best here," he places his hand on the left side of his chest where a human's heart is said to be, "because she will always be in my heart." He finally looks back to Lita to await her opinion.
Lita remembers very little of her parents and her siblings. She remembers that they'd been very poor and worked the land on a vineyard. That even with nothing, their home had been one filled with love and happiness. But she'd been the eldest child and the only daughter. She wasn't even surprised when her parents made the decision to sell her into bonded servitude. It was just the way things were. It would ensure the survival of her younger siblings. And so at fourteen she'd left and never looked back... The memories come in solemn waves. The backdrop of a city in turmoil and the revolution that destroys it. She is grateful for the sense of kinship in the moment as he touches her arm. She doesn't shy away from the gesture but she doesn't say anything further about it. It's been a long time. Too many years to be looking so far back now and wondering what might have been or could have been. She watches the emotion on his face as he admires the sketch, his tattoo, and her smile softens some. "It's sweet that they worry for you." She says, lifting a hand to his shoulder and squeezing briefly. It's a compassionate gesture afforded to few these days. "Let them. As long as they like." When he asks about where he might place the tattoo, she considers him at length and nods when he decides. "I think Nildran would say that was a cheesy reason. But I think she would like it all the same." She glances away from him, towards the worktable at the opposite end of the room. "We can work today if you like. If you're ready." She looks back at the sketch again, pausing for a moment's calculation. "It will take some hours to finish but if you've the time and don't mind the quiet, I'm all yours."
Xiembantointh also doesn't shy away from Lita's comforting touch and he appreciates the small gesture even though he doesn't say as much, but this moment needed no words. They both have loved ones that are gone from their lives now and comforting each other feels quite natural even though they are strangers. It is almost as if he was meant to come here and she was meant to create this tattoo for him. He rubs the short beard scruff on his chin, "I know, I know. I just don't ever want to get in the way of their own lives because each of them have grown and dug their own roots all over this planet," there is a joyous little twinkle in his eye as he talks about his kids with obvious pride no matter what they are doing. A hearty laugh that is earned when Lita mention what Nildran would say and he agrees with, "I think you are right, Lita." His gaze lingers on the artist's face for a moment as if he is trying to imprint this moment in his memory before he admits, "you know… I cannot remember the last time I talked about Nilly this much without becoming a mess of tears." Xiem is not one to be afraid of his emotions or bottle and bury them like most men from his time so admitting that he does cry is no issue for him at all. "It is nice, thank you," then he follows her gaze to the worktable. "You've made all of this so easy that I do believe I am ready," he stands before offering a hand to help her out of her seat on the couch as well and then patiently waits for her to get the worktable ready, but mostly he waits for further instruction from Lita whenever she is prepared enough to get started.
Lita beams a smile when he agrees with her assessment of what Nildran would have thought of his tattoo. She's more proud of that than the art she'd created. Art was far easier than people, for her. She takes his hand when he offers it, finding her feet under her again. "Artist's dens are like that," she says as she leads him towards the work table. "All the safe haven of a pub without the actual booze." She's teasing, and she reaches out to tug at the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to remove it as she sits. She'll busy herself with moving various bottles of ink nearer, a few extra needles for the color changes, and some clean cloths. She tries not to stare but she's not blind and Xiem is in no way unattractive. She almost forgets to put on the gloves she'd need, since he's a dragon. They'd been made years ago using the thin skin of some sea creature. She rarely asked about Kree's methods anymore. It's been years since she's used them, but she doesn't imagine they need to be replaced too often. She gathers raven curls away from her face, tying her hair in a loose ponytail at the back of her neck as she waits for him to get comfortable. Once settled, she lays her palm across his chest where he'd indicated he wanted that tattoo, measuring the scale of it in her head. "I'll start with the roses, here." She says, drawing an arc across his muscle with the tip of her index finger. "The darker colors will require a few passes to saturate the skin. It will probably hurt but if you move a little, I'd rather it be there and then hopefully the skin should be more numb when we get to the line work. That bit will be more tedious." But it wasn't intimidating. She meets his gaze again finally, her hand on his forearm for a moment as if to accentuate her words, "I need you to tell me if you want me to stop, understand? I'm not a mind reader." Unconscious patrons were usually bad for business and all.
Xiembantointh follows Lita with excitement fluttering in the depths of his stomach. In his day, inking was left to tribes and was a rare practice. Maybe it was a good thing he hibernated for two hundred years. "I could still go for a strong stout," he grins with humor on his expression because he honestly likes to partake in getting a drink with his coworkers after a hard day even though alcohol doesn't affect him like it does most other races due to a dragon's high tolerance. "What was the last thing you ate today?" He asks while slipping his shirt off in one fluid motion before making sure to place it out of the way, but he does want to make sure Lita won't be getting hungry since she mentioned this will take a while. More than likely, if he knew she was a vampire he wouldn't even request a tattoo from her even with the added precaution of the peculiar gloves she wears. The shirtless human aspect of Xiem is a typical one, one could ascertain he works a lot outside and without a shirt because his skin is touched by the sun without any harsh tan lines. There is a little forest of dark hair in the middle of his chest which trails down the center of his abdomen in a thin line where there are wonderful little hills and valleys the muscles create. One mystery that is revealed is the necklace that has been hiding under the cover of his shirts, that is a simple gold chain with a beautiful, yet simple, wedding band that must have belonged to Nildran when she was alive. He doesn't mind at all if Lita looks at his shirtlessness, surely it is nothing she hasn't seen before and he gets comfortable however she needs him stationed, whether it be lying down or sitting. His gaze focuses on her fingers moving along his bare chest and then he locks his gaze to her own, showing that he trusts her while answering, "I'll let you know, promise." He has a high pain tolerance for small things like this due to him being a dragon and all, so he isn't concerned. "I'm in your hands, Lita."
Lita grins at his question of what she'd last eaten today. She assumes this is a joke and she answers simply, "I'm fine." She forgets sometimes that people can't tell outright that she's a vampire. Not that she tries overly to hide it, but the typical traits had been less drastic in her turning, the pale skin just as easy to attribute to her working indoors all day. She's a limited knowledge of dragon lore and while she would assume they would know a pain tolerance more aligned with that of a lycan, or more, still better safe than sorry. Seemingly satisfied by his agreement, she takes up the tattoo gun, the foot pedal depressed with bare toes and the instrument hums to life against her palm, vibrating softly. Its presence is a familiar comfort, even hindered some by the gloves. There are multiple needles on the gun at once, an abstract paint brush. It makes the color work easier in broad areas. She dips the needles into a pot of white ink and touches it to his skin, gingerly at first. She doesn't know him and here she tests the breadth of his patience and tolerance. When he doesn't shy away from it, she continues without further caution. She watches it find life beneath her fingers, one bloom after the next, one color bleeding into another. There are no exact outlines, just a flow of realism that she paints across the canvas of him from the image in her head and the rough sketch she'd presented him. The silence stretches between them but it's a comforting thing, familiar, as she adopts this singular focus. With the roses finished, she wipes excess ink and blood from his skin with a clean rag as she changes the needles to do the green leaves and stems betwixt the flowers. She's no idea how much time has passed, only that when that part is finished, her shoulders are a little stuff from being hunched over slightly. She rolls her shoulders back, stretching some as she trades out the needle again, dipping it in a fresh pot of dark brown ink. It's a softer contrast to the colors of the flowers than black would have been and as she sets in on the line work, she's relieved she'd chosen it. The work is slower here, more tedious and precise, requiring more focus and attention to detail. Still she is resilient in its completion. If he speaks at all, she's not likely to add much to the conversation, save for a nod or occasional sound of agreement that she was paying attention at all. When it's seemingly finished, she leans back to look it over, drawing a cloth gently across his skin. On an impulse she reaches for silver ink and then a dark blue, mixing a bit of the two and dipping a new needle into the concoction. On the darkest red rose, following the edge of its petals, she draws what she remembers of Frostmaw's mountain ranges as viewed from the city's gates. From afar it will look only like a ribbon of shadow but on closer inspection, she hopes, it will be a more familiar reminder he can hold onto. She'll have to hope he doesn't mind the improvisation. She sets the gun down finally on the work table, her fingers feeling numb and she reaches for a hand mirror so he can better see his new tattoo. And she waits.
Xiembantointh is relaxed throughout the entire process, but when he notices her muscles tense along her neck and shoulders, he does ask for a break. That break was more for her than for him because he got a feeling that if he asked her if she wanted a break, she would just press on. Plus, he is in no hurry to end this journey. Xiem doesn't mind the comfortable quiet parts, but he does fill the time with tales of his kids even though they are all adults now. Viridi is his oldest who was a tomboy type of girl growing up and very competitive, but stronger than he anticipated. She is on the other side of the world leading her own platoon. His second oldest is Cyniarth, but she was so different from Viridi. She always had to be the center of attention and quite vein, but when it came to boys, they didn’t stand a chance because she was too clever for all of them. She is the one living among the aristocrats here on Rynvale. The third kid, he finally got his boy! Xendereim, what a stubborn little prick and he always had a hair up his ass about something, anything! Xiem loves that kid and he shares with Lita that he knows he’s out there doing things he probably won’t approve of, but you gotta let your kids be who they are. Next was Tyres and Xiem boasts about how he was always a riot with his comedic wit. Right there with Cyni when it came to fashion and helped her make ball gowns like she was his very own doll. He owns a chain of tailoring parlors, bought a big piece of land for him and his husband, Dummoray (Ray-Ray), to build their dream home. The pair adopted two wood elven kids recently, Aerith and Elred. His youngest and secret favorite, Yghyder. She is brilliant and daddy’s little girl. Things in their family home were always taken apart and tinkered with because her mind was just consistently going. She works in a prestigious laboratory under the sea. When Lita inspects his tattoo for the last time, he falls quiet and only watches her face as he enjoys the pride that shapes her expression. That was worth it alone, but then she hands him a mirror to have a proper look for himself and he grins immediately. "Look at that," he says in wonderment while staring at the tattoo in the reflection, "you -did- that!" A chuckle follows as he inspect it closer, "is that-" he glances over to Lita with a knowing look. "You added a touch of Frostmaw on there and now I couldn't imagine the piece without it," Xiem obviously approves of the improvisation.
Lita is grateful for those little breaks and she loves hearing about his children. Their names are beautiful when he says them, though she's certain they wouldn't sound that way if she tried to pronounce them. And though she's quiet as he shares with her these stories of his life and his family, it does not change the way she listens intently or the way she enjoys the affection he shares for them. It is clear he loves them, that they are his light. Even so, some part of her can't help a small bittersweet feeling that these are things she's never known or enjoyed in her own years. Things she hasn't held any hope for in more years now than she might care to remember. And she's grateful for the work to focus on and that because of it he might not ask of her as much contribution to their conversation. Her smile broadens some as he admires the tattoo and she goes about dropping the used needles into a jar of disinfectant and closing bottles of ink. "It's a special place for you guys." Not just he and his late wife but their children, it would seem. "This way, no matter where you go, you'll always be able to see it." It sounded less cheesy in her head, to be sure. "I am glad you like it." There was always a bit of doubt when she improvised with someone else's vision.
Xiembantointh would probably be a good listener if Lita ever found herself comfortable enough with him to share whatever it is she is feeling. He peels his gaze from the fantastic bit of artwork on his chest back to Lita with his grin still plastered on his face, "like it? I love it." Then, he looks back to the artwork to take stock of this moment and something is oddly complaining about it. "Lita," he begins, "you've allowed me a sense of closure today and I cannot begin to thank you enough." His fingertips touch the ring dangling on the necklace and glistening in the small patch of chest hair there, but then he realizes his time with Lita is up and he will easily admit that is quite the bummer. While they square things away in the form of covering his tattoo so the ink stays and he can put his shirt back on before proppely paying the artist with a generous tip for her time, but most of all her kindness. "Say," he turns around as he makes it only a couple steps towards the door with a self assured grin on his face, "do I need to come back at some point after it heals so you can check on it?" Maybe it was just another excuse to see her, but she has been so courteous and thoughtful. Who wouldn't want more friends like the beautiful Lita?
Lita hopes he won't take her protectiveness personally. It's not him. All things considered, she's enjoyed his company and getting to know him. But she's slowly learning to let people back in again. It takes time. She watches him carefully though as he admires the work, as his fingers find the ring at his chest and she glances away for a moment, sensing it's a far more personal thing for him. When he mentions closure, she leans forward and presses a brief and chaste kiss against his cheek. "You are most welcome." She says softly before covering the fresh ink with a thin layer of mild salve before he dons his shirt once more. She's almost sad to see him go. But when he asks about needing to return, she's glad to hear it. "I would say definitely if it starts turning strange colors." In truth she wasn't entirely sure how dragons would take to the ink. She'd only done the one other and if they were different colors would that matter? But regardless, she'd enjoy his company again. "Yes." She finally decides. "I think it would be best if you stopped by again while you're still in town. Just in case."
Xiembantointh will cherish that innocent little peck on his cheek for a long while. When she confirms he should return, he isn't afraid to show the joy it brings him with his grin widening some more, "great. I'll probably be around a bit more because my daughter wants to renovate her home and plans some additions on the house she just bought," he leaves out the fact that it is more like a mansion because it would seem braggy on something he had nothing to do with. "See you later, Lita," with that, he waves while pulling the door open and leaving the establishment, but not without glancing back one more time for good measure.
Lita waves, trying not to seem too excited about this new prospect of seeing him again. "I look forward to it then." Seeing him again, that was. Whether he needed a touch-up for his tattoo or not.