Chapter Text
It’s been a while since Vi felt anything at all. Her hands and arms were filled with scars built up from years of trying to get herself to feel something. But no matter how hard she tried she only felt a dull throbbing building up in her knuckles after hours of beating her punching bag close to death. So she kept punching. Kept hitting. Got into fights. Relished in the adrenaline rush that coursed through her veins every time someone else’s fists drew blood from her veins. And when she was truly desperate after having too much to drink she stole extra needles from her tattoo studio and ripped them across her skin, relishing in the sting and blood it brought as proof that she was somehow alive. Nothing, not even her sister, could pull her out of her routine. It’s the only thing she knows and finds some fucked up peace in it.
Work is another routine she cannot break. Every day, like clockwork, she arrives at her tattoo studio at five in the morning. While the shop didn’t even open till nine, Vi relished in the quiet. Sure, she loved her fellow artists and sister who all are like family to her, but those four hours are when she can let go in a different way; through her art. She starts by getting ahead on her designs for the day and makes sure they are all to her client's specifications. While this takes up a lot of time, most days she ends up finding room for other things to do.
The studio is small with only three private rooms, a waiting room, a bathroom, and a storage closet, but it was the closest thing she could call home. Well, besides the actual apartment above the shop where she and Jinx lived. But that apartment didn’t hold what Vi held most sacred. And that was in the storage closet. Vi was the only one who had access to it with the key hanging around her neck. Not even her sister knew about what lay inside. She and Ekko believed it was cleaning supplies and storage. While yes, that was partially its purpose, it also held Vi’s soul. It is ironic that it was locked in a closet like she once was. But it was safe. Piles upon piles of sketchbooks, notebooks, and paintings lay stacked on the lower shelves of the closet. Most of them are covered in dust, lying untouched for years with only the most recent ones laying at the top. It pains her to know they lie here gathering dust but there is no way she would ever be ready to look back at them any time soon.
Vi grabs her most recent sketchbook from the top of the pile and brings it with her into her studio. Her studio is at the end of the hall next to the storage closet, and across the hall from the bathroom. Typically the only visitors she gets are people mistaking her studio for the bathroom but she never knows when someone will burst into her private space. So, she locks the door, just in case, and grabs some charcoal from her desk drawer.
Typically when she draws she honestly doesn’t have a goal in mind. Most of the time when she works with charcoal she starts with random lines or squiggles. Soft and hard strokes of frustration and fear. But soon they mold into figures. Today the lines form a soft almost feminine body. Though they appear cold, their features are hard lines. But their eyes. They’re soft, and fragile, almost as if they were crafted carefully by the gods themselves. Vi sees a little bit of herself in this woman. That is when she knows it’s time to put the sketchbook away.
After locking up her sketchbook and cleaning up charcoal residue she begins to prepare the studio for opening. She does have a client at 9:30 after all. She starts by wiping down the table her clients lie on and sterilizing all her equipment. She methodically wraps her tattoo gun and prints out various sizes and alternative designs that she drew up based on her client’s wishes. She prepares sheets of paper towels, a roll of saniderm, and various sanitizers. She checks that she has enough gloves for the day and is finishing wrapping the table and various pillows she has available for clients when she hears keys rattling the front door of the studio.
She hears Jinx before she even sees her. Vi heard the door slam open and her sister rushed in while singing “good morning” as she set all her things at the front counter. Not a moment later Jinx peaks her head in the doorway of her studio with a coffee in hand.
“Hiya sis! Gotcha coffee! Your first client is here by the way, they’re extra early! Apparently they’ve been waiting outside for twenty minutes. They’re new right?”
Vi grunts and takes the coffee from her sister. Jinx refuses to tell her where she gets her morning coffee from which means she has to constantly face her overstimulating energy every morning to get her much needed fuel for the day.
Vi finally meets her sister’s eyes before speaking. “Yes, they’re new. So be nice and make sure they’re comfortable before I go greet them. And please tell them I am just finishing getting ready and will be out soon.”
Jinx gives her a two finger salute before skipping out of her studio. Vi pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a few deep breaths, mentally preparing herself.
Don’t get it twisted, Vi loves her job and her sister, it’s just a lot to deal with on top of everything else. Since their adopted father, Vander, died and left her The Last Drop tattoo studio, Vi has been working night and day to keep it afloat. It’s not that they struggle financially, it’s just a lot of paperwork dealing with a dead father and running an entire business on top of paying bills and taking care of the rest of her family. And being one of Washington’s most well known tattoo artists is a lot of pressure she never asked for. Tattooing used to be her escape. Recently, it has felt more like a burden.
She pushes those thoughts aside as she downs the rest of her coffee and makes sure she’s presentable. Looking in the mirror she typically reserves for clients she feels, well, numb. Her once vibrant pink hair is due for a touch up as her dark brown roots peak through and her undercut growing out at weird angles. The bags under her eyes are a little darker than usual, but she blames it on the lighting. Her old black Bad Omens sweatshirt is frayed at the sleeves and the red-ink cybersigil design is flaking off. Her black jeans match but look more like a compliment to her overall look rather than needing to be replaced. The same goes for her black Doc Marten combat boots Vander got for her for her 18th birthday. The leather is scratched in various places and the tread is beyond worn, but she’s comfortable. She pulls at the sleeves of her sweatshirt making sure her arms are covered before running her fingers through her hair and deciding that’s as good as it’ll get for today.
Taking one last look around her studio to make sure everything is in place, she walks out to the waiting area at the front of the studio. As she approaches she hears Jinx’s playlist over the studio’s speakers. Apparently she’s in a Sleep Token mood today, which Vi will never complain about. Jinx must be doing it to try to help soothe her bad mood as it’s rare for her to play anything but hyperpop.
Turning the corner, Vi sends a small smile to her sister as a silent thanks for the music and turns to lock eyes with the only other person in the room, her 9:30 appointment.
They take Vi off guard. While they’re sitting Vi can tell they’re at least six feet tall. Their posture is impeccable and their features are delicate yet androgynous. Their hair is midnight blue and hangs just past their shoulders and has startling blue eyes that are unwavering from Vi’s stare. Vi keeps their gaze as she approaches them with an outstretched hand.
“Hi, I’m Vi, nice to meet you.”
The stranger breaks eye contact to look at Vi’s hand before taking it firmly in their own. It’s strangely both soft and callused from years of use. Vi immediately wants to know more about why.
Though their voice pulls Vi from her thoughts. “Nice to meet you, Vi. I’m Caitlyn.”