special delivery

Who: December and Eric
Where: Boardwalk, December’s shop
When: Late evening

It was stupid to feel nervous about this at all, but Eric had no one to blame but himself. Killing time in Little Haven that afternoon had exposed him to the work of actual artists, of people who understood the design elements of so many different mediums. He was just an engineer, a metalworker, a guy who made a promise without thinking it through. Like usual.

And like usual, Eric kept his promises, whether he had those little shreds of anxiety or not. Tonight that meant loading a long expanse of reworked metal into the flatbed of his truck, tethering it in place, and heading into the city for the second time. He wasn’t even sure he’d find anyone waiting, based on how odd the hours of some of these shops were, but if not? Eric didn’t expect anyone to try and run off with the bulky weight of his project.

Rolling down the boardwalk and eventually stopping, Eric hopped from the truck with his thermos dangling loosely from one hand as he headed to the door of December’s tattoo parlor. He’d meant to stop by earlier, if only to see the setup she used for body modifications, but really? Both of them had odd schedules, and he’d just have to hope for an overlap tonight. He didn’t think the city morgue would be as welcoming to visitors.

December was awake, and down in the shop. She'd done two tattoos earlier that day, and was going through her ink inventory, to see if she needed to get more. When the door opened, she looked up from her position in one of the chairs she had for tattooing, and smiled when she saw Eric. "Well, lookie what we have here." she said in greeting. "What brings you to the nasty side of town, Eric?" she asked. "Feeling like wading through the dregs of society?"

“Because you’ve never seen me here before,” Eric pointed out dryly, setting his toe in the door for a moment before bracing it with his thermos. “And no, no wading tonight, I’m not dressed for it. I was back at the scrapyard going over my checklists and I realized I forgot a delivery. Mind if I leave the door open so I can haul it in?” he asked, grinning expectantly without offering any details about what he’d brought. December was razor sharp, fittingly, and he figured she’d put it together before he could even back out of the shop.

That had her sitting up straight, setting her clip board off to the side. "Haul what it? It?" she asked, excited. There was only one thing she could think of that he'd be bringing to her, and it was something she'd tossed the concept of towards him a while back. "I don't mind." she added, so she actually answered the posed question. But he definitely had her attention, and December rarely got excited, but she was at the prospect of a metal dragon entering her shop.

Having been an only child, Eric hadn’t ever really had a chance to disguise presents much, or to deliver surprises in general. Sure, unveiling new artillery systems counted somewhat, but he was hoping December’s reaction would be wholly different from the military brass he’d once served. And that meant that the tarp he’d thrown over the payload in his truck was multi-purpose, even.

It kept his hands safe from the myriad sharp edges he’d left in place for December, knowing she’d be less pleased with something that was entirely safe. At the same time, it was as close to wrapping as he’d let himself get, and once he stepped from the shop it only took a few minutes before Eric stepped back inside with a grunt, balancing awkwardly with a four foot mass of awkward angles slung in his arms. “Where should I set it?” he grunted, neck locked tight under the weight.

She was just a bit delighted. She pointed to an empty spot on the floor near the center of the shop, thinking it was now going to be occupied. She couldn't wait to see it, really. December didn't get things very often, and definitely not something like this. Something unique, hand made. Something that had taken time. So, even if she likely would have kicked herself for being a little bit like a giddy kid, she couldn't quite kick the demeanor fully. "Right here." she said as he headed over to where she pointed.

In his travels with the Marines, Eric had seen Asia briefly, not long enough to really absorb the culture. But the bits he’d seen definitely stuck with him, a fact that was clear as he settled the metalwork down where December pointed with another groan, then stepped back with the cloth pulled away.

Just like she’d requested, it was a dragon, but the body was a serpentine twist like he’d seen in Chinese art, composed of thick segments of metal that overlaid each other in sharp edges. Four clawed feet held the body off the ground, letting it curl slightly into an arrow-shaped wedge of a head that bore dark, empty eyes and rows of edged teeth that fit together neatly. Wings sat on its’ back, flat panels of black material folded up with hints of metal framing and the edges of blades poking from the tips, and once Eric had it all settled? He reached under the belly to pull away a large switchbox with two switches, pulling it with a few feet of heavy cord to offer over to December. “Give it a shot,” he requested, his expression guarded somewhere between anticipation and nerves.

She was fascinated. It was quite clear he had her entire attention, the dragon was better than she could have expected. And she was very surprised when he handed her a switch box. She took it, giving him a quizzical expression, but the smile still remained on her lips. "Alright." she said, and she hit the first one, which unfolded the wings. She let out a little surprised laugh at that, clearly happy with it. Then she hit the second one, and saw the mouth open, where she could see she could burn things, giving the firey breath to her dragon. Giving a pleased little laugh, a lighter side of December clearly visible as she got closer to it, and ran her fingertips along the wings, then down the neck and towards it's head, she was the picture of enchanted. "Wow, Eric." she said, not taking her eyes off of the dragon. "This is...amazing." she landed on.

Just as clear as her delight was Eric’s relief over her reaction, showing as a warmth to his grin and his eyes as he stepped back, tossing the tarp over one shoulder to watch her. “This sort of thing’s interesting to tackle from an engineering standpoint,” he noted quietly, not wanting to break her focus. “Get some embers burning in the mouth and close it and not only will the eyes light up, but the breaks in the frame’ll help it heat the shop when it’s cold.” He moved around a little bit, circling December and her new ‘pet’ in amusement. “And I know you saw a wing in the scrapyard? But I turned that piece of steel into the head, seemed fitting since that’s where it started...”

"Well, I love him." December said, not at all disappointed that what she'd seen as a wing didn't become one. She was perfectly happy with the dragon in general. "And he'll heat the place? Wow. You've outdone yourself." she told him, impressed. She sat down on the floor in front of the dragon, and just looked at everything, watched how the joints fit together, ran her hands over the metal. She hit the first switch again to see how it looked from that vantage, seeing the wings spread out.

“So it’s a him?” Eric asked, grinning a bit easier as he watched her focus leap from detail to detail. Really, it was an entirely different side of December than he’d seen before, with her rapt focus and nearly-joyful exploration. “And he’ll help, but don’t expect him to fight off the winter all by himself... and I’m glad you like it,” he confessed a moment later, moving to sit on the edge of one of her parlor chairs. “I was in Little Haven today, picking up the tension springs for the control box? Let me tell you, nothing psyches me out more with this kind of project than seeing what real artists can do. I mean, I thought he came out pretty damned good? But he’s not for me... otherwise I might’ve taken off a few of the edges.”

She finally shifted her attention back to him for a moment, though he didn't keep her gaze long before she was looking back at her treasure. "He won't have to, but it's nice to know he can help with the cold." she said. "And there's no such thing as 'real' artists. There are creative people and those who lack imagination." She found one of the aforementioned edges, and slid her fingertip along the edge with a slow but appreciative smile. "Thank you for leaving me edges." she said, eyes ticking back in his direction for a moment.

Finally reclaiming his thermos, Eric unscrewed the cap to pour a steamy cup of coffee, slipping from the chair and moving to set the drink down near December. “Does he have a name yet?” he asked her quietly, wondering just what December was associating with the dragon already. She never offered much about herself freely, but right now he felt like he could definitely glean something from any kind of simple answer. “And it didn’t seem like a proper gift to you without sharp corners.”

She gave a light little laugh, and took a drink from the cup when he set it down. She gazed at the dragon's face, tilting her head to consider him for a long moment. "Cerberus." she decided. "Because he'll guard the underworld, make sure no one ever escapes." she said and she pet it's head, happy with it, and everything in that moment--something truly rare in December Land. 'Happy' wasn't something she usually ever reached, and it was fleeting. But she was genuinely pleased with her gift.

That was a look Eric wanted to capture on film, but for his lack of a camera. Memory would have to do, because it was an entirely different light to her than he’d seen yet, even if he’d only crossed December’s path a few times. Those times had set a precedent, and right now clearly defied it. “I like that,” Eric agreed, tilting back the thermos for a drink of his own. “Just don’t tell anyone where it came from, this was a special exception for a friend.” He wasn’t looking to change professions or find would-be art appreciators traipsing around the scrapyard, not even close. “And maybe some night here you can cut me a discount on some ink,” Eric added as an afterthought, not assuming anything as far as payment went. “I’ve been looking to get some done by an artist who doesn’t also run the mess hall on a military base.”

"Oh, you better believe I won't be telling anyone where to get something just like it. He's mine. I don't want to share." she confirmed, giving him a wicked little grin. "And you're good for some ink." she told him, grin still in place. "What do you want and where do you want it?" she asked him, tilting her head til it rested against the dragon's shoulder. "Or do I get to get creative?"

She drew a soft laugh as Eric’s eyes stayed settled on her, something like appreciation for the sight showing in them. “You sure you weren’t a mind reader in your carnival days?” he asked rhetorically. “Because I was going to say that I didn’t have much choice in my first two, and I wasn’t looking to break tradition now.” Setting his drink aside, Eric leaned forward a bit in his seat, watching her more intently. “I was hoping you’d want to leave a mark,” he confirmed in a quieter voice. “Get creative.”

"Don't forget that you asked me to." She told him, absolutely not about to pass up that invitation. "You sticking around now? Because I've got time." she told him. She didn't have to work at the morgue until later, and she didn't have any appointments left today. She could toss the 'closed' sign up on the door, and give him her undivided.

“If you have time, so do I,” Eric answered, breaking his focus long enough to shirk his coat and toss it aside with the tarp he’d brought in. “And I wouldn’t ask if I was afraid of looking like one of those bathhouse boys in Chinatown,” he assured her, grinning wider. “Just tell me where you want me and what I need to do.”

At that, December pressed a little kiss to Cerberus, between his eyes, then stood up. She walked towards him, then around him. "Lose the shirt." she told him. Then she moved to the parlor chair, and she pulled the lever to lay it out, and she patted it. "Right here, face down." she commanded.

Face down? That was a surprise, and Eric had to wonder what he might end up looking like when this was over. In any case, he smirked at the command before following it, tugging his shirt up and off, then tossing it with his coat. He’d kept in good shape for years now, mostly fit with slight hints of age starting to take its’ toll, but otherwise? Eric was lean muscle and strong arms, streaked with a scar here and there and with tattoos stamped on his left bicep and shoulder. Settling into the chair, he folded his arms at his sides with a grin December couldn’t see. “Sorry if anything messes with your plans back there,” he muttered. “Got kissed with some fragments on my last deployment.”

"Nothing'll mess with my plans." December told him. "And if there's marks, they just get added in." She did take the time to gaze at his back, mind forming a picture as she did so. Then she abruptly walked away, getting the gun and ink she planned on working with, along with her chair. She wheeled that over and pumped up the seat a little, something she had because she was damn short, and she liked to be comfortable when she worked. So, she sat down, and started preparing everything. Then she reached out to wash off his back, a process that was oddly gentle coming from someone like her. Then she started. And she didn't sketch out what she was doing first, like usual. For her it was about the feel of everything, and if she was doing something purely for him then it wasn't coming out of a book, and she was going to fully run with the feel. She started towards the center of his back but off to the left, and a little high, so it was just above his shoulderblade.

It was soothing to lay there as she washed his back, and Eric hadn’t been in this spot for far too long, he decided. A massage just might be in order once this new art healed up, provided he could find a legitimate parlor. That idea vanished like a puff of smoke as he felt the first kiss of the needle, Eric’s back rising in time with a tiny hitch in his breathing. His fingers stretched out at his sides, exulting in the narrow focus of that burning point working into his skin as he laid there. If these things weren’t so expensive? Eric knew he could easily have gotten hooked on the feeling, and by now there wouldn’t have been any skin left for December to mark.

December worked quietly, but steadily. It was quite clear she wasn't needing to pause and figure out what she was doing, she had a very set idea in her mind. So she worked at it, mainly working in straight black ink at first. The main design was very much that, all in those dark black tones, and she did a stark image with little shading, but something that was striking in general. The lighter sorts of strokes went up towards his neck, and in those she put the tiniest hints of blue. The artwork itself took up a good chunk of his back, and she certainly wasn't shy about taking up that much space. When she came across his scars in the design, she worked them in, made them part of it without covering them up. In fact, one made up a highlight on the design.

How long he’d been laying there, Eric couldn’t have said. He didn’t particularly care either; he was comfortable, enjoying the burn of the needle and the infrequent touches of December’s hands or her washcloth on his back, and there was nowhere else he needed to be. If he wasn’t here he’d be in the scrapyard firing off the arbalest he’d finished a few days back or rounding up more pipe for impromptu spears. But he was more curious every time he felt her work the tattoo gun farther across his back, and eventually? Eric had to break the silence. “How’re we looking back there?” he asked quietly, “And how’ve you been, aside from dragons and free tattoos? Sorta feels like I missed my chance to ask when I was bringing Cerberus in.”

She smirked at that, glancing up towards his face, but then her eyes were back down on the design. "We're looking good, and I've been alright." she said. "There's been some massively strange corpses brought in lately. Someone went and replaced bones with wood, so that was weird. Someone has to have something a little wrong upstairs to start that. That takes creativity. That takes patience. That takes not minding digging around in people's insides."

“Wood?” Eric echoed, balking into the headrest of the chair. “Pre or post-mortem?” That’d say plenty to him just about the individual, whether they were making people suffer or just experimenting with corpses. “I mean, we heard stories overseas about sawbones getting up to weird shit, but never our docs, and never with live subjects or anything.”

"Peri. As in it happened around time of death. My guess is he was alive when the person started, but not when it was finished." December said. "What kind of stories did you hear?" she asked curiuosly, working on an object that wasn't connected to the main design, one that used a scar for a highlight. That one had hints of red in it.

The explanation helped, given that Eric’s coroner’s knowledge started and stopped with those terms. “Mainly autopsy stuff, doctors working for the enemy trying to come up with shortcuts or defenses they could test on captured soldiers. How well you could graft calcium to steel, whether the lungs could process more noxious chemicals in the right conditions... essentially doing what our boys were,” he explained, trying to imagine some shape for the passage of the needle on his skin. “Both sides wanted to build a better soldier. We had a lot more rules to follow in the attempt, though... I remember hearing mention of a scientist who was trying to recreate ichthyosis vulgaris? The skin condition where people grow scales, except he wanted to know how to cause it.”

December made a little bit of a face at that. "Because deformed lizard people would be really inclined to follow orders from the people who did that to them in the first place." she said drily. She leaned back a little and cracked her back, twisting a little to get the kinks out of it. Then she went back to the more delicate lines, just little traces of color you could almost miss if you weren't paying attention.

“You’d be amazed at the orders people follow,” Eric muttered into the headrest, already working hard to keep his temper from even flaring. “If they ever figured it out, I guarantee there’d be volunteers. Hell, whatever our boys were working on, I’m sure they had some as well. All it takes is a good enough sales pitch.” But that was long behind him now, Eric was his own man, and there were better things to focus on. Like the light brushing passes of the tattoo gun that had to be forming more detailed lines than the splash of blue that marked his old battalion.

December was quiet a moment, then finally shook her head. "No. I really wouldn't." she said. "Look at organized religion. Some book tells people what to do, and they quibble about what it all means, meanwhile they take what parts they like and swear by it and just ignore the parts they don't." she said. "It's the same thing. Orders on high, orders from some general, orders from your boss, orders from your dog...same thing." She was on to very fine detail, light little strokes of lines, and she was adding little streaks of more color up towards his neck once more.

The detailing on his neck kept Eric still for long moments before he nodded in agreement ever so slightly. “I’m not a faithless man because I like sleeping in on Sundays,” he agreed from the chair. “Or, not entirely. But expecting answers from anyone else in this city for my life is asking to be given an order. And I don’t take those any more. Cuts into the social experience, as I’m sure you know,” he noted, grinning into the chair’s cushion. “Shame, too, I do love a good gala...”

"So go to the party tomorrow. Dress up, have a few too many drinks, see who you can pick a fight with." December said. "See how fast they kick you out, or if they'll sit there sour faced while they try to pretend it isn't uncouth." She grinned. "You can always say your dog told you to go."

“Come with me,” Eric asked in smooth succession to her idea, not even letting himself think it over. She was at least fifteen years younger than him, sure, but December wasn’t young in the way that Billie had made him think of the word. Besides which? Right now his back was starting a slow ache, deep in the tissue like he’d had a hellish workout or a long scrap, a soreness Eric actually welcomed. It lowered his resistance to his own impulses and appetites, meaning he didn’t even secondguess the reflex to ask. “Pick out a dress that shows off your corset, let me get some use out of my dance lessons for the first time since I was a recruit at a USO show, and we’ll smirk over drinks at every gawker we get tomorrow.”

She laughed a little, smirking at that. "Can't. I have to work." she said. "Dead people don't autopsy themselves." she said. Though she suspected that the real reason they'd scheduled her to work was because they didn't want her showing up. She had a connection to the police department, so it was expected that she in theory should go--but yeah. No one was going to want her there.

That was something that left no room for arguing, and Eric figured he couldn’t drop in either. Maybe it was possible? But if she was in the middle of an autopsy he imagined that might create a weird mood for a social encounter. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said in smirking resignation, one shoulder hunching in a little shrug. “And maybe some other time, then.” Which was deliberately vague, leaving December plenty of possible ways out if she wanted them.

She smiled. "No, you can't. Clearly, you're going to have to find an event to invite me to that isn't that one." she told him, because she wasn't turning him down because she didn't want to spend time with him, she was turning him down because she really did have to work. She wanted him to know that. She put a few more finishing touches into her work, and sat back, the tension in her neck really tight, but that was normal when you spent ages bent over someone doing work on them.

“Does it have to be an event?” Eric asked, head turning to one side as he heard the tattoo gun’s motor cease. “Or would you just be game with having one less boring evening in your future?” It’d be a night for finding some trouble, he could feel that already. December’s account of how the public regarded her, plus Eric’s knowledge of how he regarded the public? It guaranteed as much. “And am I good to move?”

"It doesn't have to be an event." December told him, setting her gun down. "And yes, you're good to move." she told him. Then she moved to grab a hand mirror, and crooked her finger in a 'come hither' gesture. "This way." she told him, leading a little further back into the shop where there was a full length mirror. She needed a new one, it was pretty old and worn, but she couldn't quite afford one.

It took him a moment to follow her, slipping to his feet from the chair and staying put for a moment. Eric rolled each shoulder testingly, letting the ache settle in with a languid air to the roll of movement in his frame, then finally started after December. “I’ll get to thinking, then,” he promised as he walked after her. “See what strikes me best and hope it lines up with a free night for you.” Stepping into the back of the shop, Eric turned to put his back to the full mirror, hand held out patiently for the smaller one so he could get a glimpse. What had her impulse been? He was stuck with it now, for better or worse, but there was no regret buzzing in his head.

What she'd set into his skin was a revolver. The lines that had been much more delicate were curls of smoke from the barrel, wafting upwards with a stylized feel to them. she did the majority of the work with black and white, but there were little brushes of color in the smoke. On the handle of the revolver there was a curled snake, which also had just tiny hints of color to it. There were a few spent shell casings down further on his back, though one unspent one stood out, where she'd taken one of his scars and used the curve of it to highlight the curve of the shell. On the side of the bullet, with more little hints of color, mostly red, it said 'December'.

He was wordless for a drawn out fragment of time there, quiet and critical as he studied his reflection with slight turns to each side. Watching the way the design moved with every lift of a shoulder or twist at the waist, Eric stepped closer at one point to catch the details, then farther again as he marveled over the proportion, the fact that she’d done this freehand, and the way there didn’t seem to be a twist or angle that ruined the design. “Outstanding,” he murmured, reaching back to brush fingers under the bullet she’d scribed her name onto.

“Absolutely perfect, I think I couldn’t have chosen better... and I like the artist’s signature, on the off chance that anyone gets to see it and ends up floored like I am. They’ll know who to look up,” Eric praised, lowering the mirror to look December’s way. He didn’t think it was a random thing, either; it was a design based on insight she had, and once again there was that sense of age to her, a thing born of experience, not years. It was more compelling than he liked to admit, and it showed in his gaze for more than a moment before Eric offered the mirror back. “So, ink this large... anything special I need to do to take care of it?”

She was leaning back against the wall as she watched him admire her work. She was glad he liked it--even if that hadn't stopped her at all from taking up the challenge of permenantly marking him in any case. She took the mirror back, watching his eyes. "The same things for small ones, just make sure you take care of it, don't let it get infected, and sleep on your side or stomach for a few days at least." she told him. She got a dragon, he got a tattoo. She thought it was a nice trade off, personally.

Eric would’ve said he came out ahead, given that Cerberus had been built from scraps, though he figured the hours invested might even things out;. But it wasn’t a contest of any sort, it was an impromptu thing between what he liked to consider friends. “Sounds good, I was hoping it’d be that simple. Haven’t had a new addition in about... twelve years?” he wondered, glancing to the tattoo higher on his left side. And given that time, Eric knew he’d lucked out in getting a random one he didn’t hate, though if he had? At least it would’ve been out of sight. “I’ll have to keep my eyes out around the yard, too. I think I could get used to using the barter system with you.”

That had December grinning at him. "You do that." she said, thinking that sounded like a great idea to her. She liked that idea quite a lot, even. "I'll look forward to seeing what else you can create. I have faith you've got imagination in there. You proved it with him." she said, making a gesture back towards her new 'pet'. She was already thinking she was going to have people asking her constantly where she'd gotten it and where they could get one. Eric could probably make a lot of money off of them, but he didn't seem to want that. No, if she had to assess the situation, it would take something away if he was just doing it for anyone off the street.

“I find that I like working with an audience in mind,” he agreed, grinning back December’s way intently. “And I like seeing how close to your tastes I can hit with my work. Guessing this makes us each other’s patron or something, though you’re more used to this. I’m not complaining, mind you, I like a challenge.” His steps took him closer to December, then past her to reclaim his shirt, even if Eric came back to appraise his tattoo again instead of putting it back on. It was a shame that this sort of work was still mostly for soldiers and criminals, in his mind. People were missing out on a real artist just because her medium was different and she couldn’t afford the rent in Little Haven.

December just watched him moving around, and when she could she watched how the tattoo moved with him. She liked how it looked, and there was always something about how someone held themselves when they had something like that on their person. Something they liked, that meant something to them. "Well, that's the kindest of words used to describe me, so there you go. I'm a challenge, and I think you like that. I think it wouldn't be any fun for you if it was all easy."

She was dead-on with that, Eric was often driven by how challenging something was. If it was too easy, he didn’t bother. That was a big reason he stayed out of a lot of the city; he could see where situations might lead, the outcomes were obvious, and triumphs without struggle had no allure for him. “I like what the challenge represents, yeah,” he agreed, keeping the flash in his eyes to just that as Eric pulled his shirt over his head and felt his muscles sing with aching. “The first steps of understanding, feeling familiar without seeing all of it. I think I lucked out, because you give me the impression that you don’t do anything easy, December. You didn’t need a reason to bring me back? But damn if you don’t have one.”

She looked wickedly pleased at that. "Someone has to make life slightly more interesting." December told him. "Currently that's our lot, for each other." she decided. It was working so far. She was happy for that, it broke up the monotony her life sometimes held. That was likely the worst part about going from a life where you traveled around to being stationary again. There was a certain amount of inherent dullness that came just from not altering location.

There was definitely some dullness that came from restricting yourself in the ways Eric did; keeping himself out of conflicts for lack of a defining direction, even avoiding situations he might enjoy to keep life simple. But this was only simple in the sense that he knew he enjoyed it. As she’d said, they made life interesting for each other. “Happy to do the job,” Eric agreed, tugging his shirt down and squirming a little at the feel of it on his back. “And if I take too long thinking of where to take you, maybe I’ll see you down in my neck of the woods again, yeah? I know catching you here’s more luck of the draw.”

"If you fall afoul of some imaginary timeframe that I make up on the spot, I'll show." December said, knowing she would. She'd already done so, and she liked him. They had interesting conversations, and hell--he'd just made her a dragon, then let her tattoo him without even giving her a direction on what to put there. She was good with this arrangement so far, she wasn't looking to sever it.

“You wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve known to do so,” Eric disclaimed with a smirk, knowing she wasn’t the sort at all. She’d be the first in a while if she was, but December hadn’t struck him as being so arbitrary yet. “And I know you said before that you had some time tonight, think there’s enough left for a slice of pie down at Nighthawk’s?” he asked, draping his coat in one arm. His back felt tender enough that Eric figured light layers were a good plan for now.

She glanced towards the clock, and decided she had enough time if she went straight from the diner to the morgue. So she nodded. "If you're buying, and then bringing me to work." she told him with a far too sugary smile, and she even mock batted her eyes at him. But she was in a good mood, for sure. Odd, but nice.

It’d be a good way to round off his night, and for once maybe he’d get to sleep without walking the junkyard or firing off archaic weapons into the empty night air. Sharing the odd-yet-good mood didn’t seem hard to do, leaving Eric feeling like he could be out more if it was under terms like these. Of course, pushing for it too hard would change it all, but at least he knew he could let it happen when the mood struck. “Decisive as ever, I approve. And if I’m buying, I hope you like their blueberry,” he warned, taking a step towards the door and backnodding for December to follow once the shop was ready to be locked up.

December went to grab her coat and keys, giving Cerberus one last pet before she headed after him. "It happens that I do." she told him, not all that picky with her food. You learned not to be when you didn't have a lot of money, and even if these days she had more than ever before, she still couldn't quite get into a mindframe where she could refine her tastes accordingly. But she'd go, have pie, and hang onto things for a little while. Then it as off to find out what new fucked up things people were doing to each other these days.

Moving for his truck, Eric couldn’t help a little shiver over how the night air felt on his back without his coat layering in. Healing was going to be a fun few days of soreness, something he honestly looked forward to. “Then my faith was well spent,” Eric joked as he popped open the door to his truck and started it up after she’d climbed in. Pulling away from the shop, he glanced sideways quickly before focusing on leaving the boardwalk behind. “Does the shop actually do a lot of business? Or does the morgue foot the bills for it?” he asked as he drove, cracking a window and punching in his lighter. “I know it’s a niche market for tattooing, the piercings have got to be even more so.”

"The only piercings I do are ears. The only fun ones I do are on myself." she admitted with a nod. "And I do some business, but not much. It's the morgue." she told him. Then she paused. "And I have a little bit of a side business, but that's definitely a conversation for another day." she said, thinking that it wasn't a conversation you had in a diner.

“That’s a cruel tease, there,” Eric noted with a grin as he dug out his cigarettes and lit up. He wasn’t going to press, though. If it wasn’t for tonight, then it wasn’t. “And keeping the less common piercings to yourself explains the literally one of a kind look. I run into all types when I’m doing salvage in the daytime, kinda assumed I’d meet someone who had something done by now. Interesting that I haven’t, really... you’re starting to have a nice little collection of singular traits, December.”

And from what she’d told him about piercing before, she definitely had Eric’s interest, but he wasn’t ready to make that leap of faith and try it himself quite yet. “But if I run into anyone looking for tattoos, I’ll definitely point them your way,” he promised, swinging around one of the last turns before the short drive to the diner ended.

"Most people spend time making sure bits of metal doesn't get shoved through their skin." she said. "So, there isn't a big call for it. I've even had people consider? But no one does it." she admitted. "And send them my way. I can use something to alleviate boredom." she said, getting out of the truck to head for the diner.

Following after, Eric pulled down his smoke in a few long drags before dropping it and stepping on it in passing. “I’m curious enough to give it a shot, I think, just not sure where the hell to put something,” he mused as he pulled open the door for December and stepped in after her. Nighthawk’s never seemed to be empty, but at this hour it definitely wasn’t anywhere close to full, either. “Closest thing I’ve had was shrapnel, which is pretty damn different,” Eric said as he headed for a booth.

"Yes, that'd be amazingly different." December said, taking a seat as well. "And it would have to be someplace you could take care of it, where it wouldn't get infected, and isn't going to snag on anything while you work." she told him, since ripping out piercings was a bad thing. She liked pulling on them, but there was a difference there between that and actually having one yanked clean out.

“Ever had that happen?” Eric asked, remembering the first time he’d seen her corset piercings. The urge to tug on them even slightly was almost immediate, and while December hadn’t protested, he’d begun thinking about the strength of her skin before it got damaged just as quickly. It seemed a lot riskier than a tattoo, and while he could see the exotic draw, Eric wasn’t sure it outweighed the new risks to watch for. “I’d have to step pretty light in the yard, yeah,” he agreed before turning to their waitress and placing a quick order for both of them.

"Got one snagged on something? Yes." she confirmed. Then she turned her arm over, towards the elbow, and she pointed out a scar there. "I had one here for a while that got pulled then infected, which is why a lot of them these days are temporary." she explained. "It's much harder to keep something healthy if you have something in where it isn't meant to be. Especially in a place that's more awkward than the ears. Ears aren't generally in the way. But most of the rest of you brushes up against things constantly in the course of a day."

She’d told him before about months and months of sleeping on her stomach to let her back heal, but it probably went a lot farther. And with the facial piercings, maybe snags weren’t an issue but there had to be others. “Infections are a hell of a thing,” he agreed, leaning across to get a better look at the scar on December’s arm. “I’m glad I never had a serious one, I saw a few go untreated overseas. Not pretty. And what’s the limit on it, exactly? Seems like you’ve tried out enough possible spots to know what can and can’t be pierced, so where’s the line? Deep tissue? Muscle?”

"Depends on how much pain you're willing to put up with and for how long." December said. "as for heal time, that's subjective--it's different for everyone. Some people don't heal well at all, others bounce back pretty fast. No two injuries are exactly the same, and that's basically what a piercing is. It's an injury, just a deliberate one."

“I’d say pain was subjective too,” Eric argued good-naturedly, sitting back as his coffee and a slice of pie were delivered. “But I get the feeling that a lot of folks don’t even try to handle any, they just want total avoidance.” Which let him get December’s distaste for people a bit better, he thought. That avoidance of something so integral to her life was insulting. “Still, curious. Would you call it masochism, then?” he asked with a grin, raising his coffee mug.

"It is. It just also doesn't affect how something heals." December said. "Piercing? And like I do, with the extent I do, and all that entails?" she asked, but didn't wait for the confirmation. "Yes, I'd call it masochism." she said. "I think for it to work for someone they have to have that at least a little."

Which left Eric wondering if he did. December obviously did, she admitted it freely. But Eric? Maybe, if his still-going reaction to the tattooing was any indicator. He liked the feeling of strain, of tension... did that qualify? “If you hadn’t said that you kept the unique ones to yourself, I’d be wondering now,” he joked lightly. “Like, the people in power in this city? There’s got to be some masochists to put up with what goes on around here,” Eric said with a wider grin before digging into his pie, unaware of how right he was, or that December might have particular insights there.

She smirked at that, and started in on her own pie. "I think there are a lot of people out there who are sadists and there are just as many masochists. Just depends on how you look at them, and from what angle." she said.

“That’s just it, though. I think if you look hard enough, we’ve all got a dysfunction just waiting to be named. Like you say, it’s all about the angle of viewing,” Eric agreed as he ate. “The people who say they don’t, that they’re fine? Liars, whether it’s to maintain an upstanding image or because they’ve never voiced the things they wonder about. Repression is an utter bastard.”

"Well that's the whole thing, isn't it? Everyone wants to present a pretty lie. It's why I hate people." December said plainly. "Can't stand the bullshit. I don't even think it's all repression, I think it's some deep seeded belief that they don't want what they want." she said. "some delusion that has them making excuses even to themselves."

For all of her distaste that was evident in December’s voice, her words made Eric smile. He liked the passion, the plain-spoken approach to something he absolutely agreed with. “It’s the unspoken orders of society. A dash of organized religion gets thrown in to shame us for wanting more than whoever we worship, but the rest of it’s the idea that people should base themselves off the example of everyone else they see,” he mused, pausing to wolf down a few bites. “Put it in terms that lets them feel like they’re better than you or I for it, and you could probably get these people to lop off a hand in the name of ‘being a better person’.”

She gave a short little half-laugh. "I'm sure you could." she said. "I'm sure if my look got somehow sanctioned, people would blindly do that too. Just depends on the current idea of normal...when everyone's fucked up." she said, finishing off her pie. "Normal doesn't really exist. Kind of like perfection."

“No universal benchmark for either one, no,” Eric said as he set his fork down, plucking pie crust up in one hand and dunking it in his coffee. “And I’m sure that’d fuck with more people, if they considered it. Me, I’ve got my baseline for most days, and it’s good enough to chart the difference between shit times and nights like tonight, which has been a hell of a night for the record,” he complimented, finishing up his coffee and digging for his wallet. “Which is why I won’t press my luck by keeping you from your stiffs. Not that they’re going anywhere.”

"They're not, but if they're murder victims, their killers might be." December said. Even if she wasn't interested in catching criminals, she was interested in telling the dead's story. That was her stake in things. That was the call. And she was very good at it. She smiled, at any rate. "Thanks for the pie." she said.

“Thanks for sharing it with me,” Eric replied as he set a few bills and a little stack of change on the table. “Company normally keeps me clear of a chatty waitress on nights when I’m not feeling it, but I don’t have it too often.” He felt like that was changing, though, like he was losing his willingness to hide out so often. There were reasons not to, lately. “And I’ll want to hear about the more interesting cases next time, whenever ‘next time’ might be. And in addition to the the conversation for another day,” he reminded with a smirk, not planning to let it go easily. He wanted the pieces that were still missing, the details of what made her tick.

"You'll have to work for it." December warned, though it was a playful sort of warning. That, before she headed back out of the diner, to head to work. People were dying all over the city, some of them were going to wind up on her table. And she'd have a nice mood to work on them with.