shrugs. “So, what are you in Melbourne for?”
“How do you know I’m in Melbourne for anything?”
“You’re American. You’re here for a reason.”
I lick my lips. “I’m here to do an apprenticeship.”
“So you’re not yet a tattoo artist.”
“No, not technically. I’m here to train to be one.”
“You like tattoos?”
“I like the art, the meaning. I like the idea of people wearing their skin as an expression of themselves.”
“Are you any good?”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning. I take a liberal sip from my glass. It actually tastes far better than I thought it would. It’s my first time having champagne. I don’t know the brand, but Veuve Clicquot sounds pretty fancy.
“I think I’m pretty talented. I’m not being stuck-up or anything, just that I know how to analyze my own talent. I’ve spent a lot of time studying drawing technique and all that.”
“So, what, you opening your own shop?”
“No, it doesn’t work like that. I’ve got to apprentice for an established artist, first. They need to vouch for me to get my license. Then I can open my own shop.”
“When do you start?”
“I’ve got an interview tomorrow,” I say.
“Think you’ll get it?”
“I hope so.”
He grins. “What did you think of my tattoos?”
“I didn’t notice them,” I lie.
“Bullshit. Let me tell you something.”
He gestures at me to sit in one of the expensive-looking chairs on the balcony. I do, and he sits after.
“Tell me what?”
“When I first step into the cage, I instantly notice certain things.”
“Like fighting is similar to art. Please .”
“Fighting is an art, Pen. I notice whether he’s a lefty or a righty. I notice which leg he puts his weight on. I notice if he’s strong in the thighs, or strong in the calves.”
“How can you even tell that?”
“The way he stands. Is he putting his weight on the balls of his feet – which suggests calf strength, which means he can change direction quickly – or does he rest more on his heels? That suggests he’s got upper-leg strength. He can push, bully, kick.”
“You notice all of that, huh?”
“Fucking right I do. I notice if he watches my eyes, or if he watches my fists. I notice if he inhales through his mouth, or through his nose.”
“What’s your point, Pierce? The intricacies of fighting technique are boring.” I flash him a quick smile.
He grins. “My point is that this is what I do. I notice it. So, if tattooing is what you do – or what you want to do – then you’ll notice it, for sure. So, don’t lie to me. Tell me what you thought of my tattoos.”
I hold my breath, leave him hanging. He’s got this small smile, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I relent. “The wolf on your shoulder is detailed, intricate. It’s not a stencil, but a personal design. The ears are slightly out of line – I’m talking perspective here. The eyes may be a little close to each other, but I’m guessing that effect fades the closer you get. The shading on the fur is imperfect; with wolf’s fur, or any animal, really, you can definitely achieve more depth and volume with better technique.” I pause, look into his bright eyes. “Did you design it?”
He laughs. “I did.”
“You should have let your artist make some corrections.”
“She tried to,” Pierce says.
“But you didn’t want her to?”
“No.”
“And the serpent on your chest and stomach… that looked like it started out as a snake, but turned into a dragon.”
“Yeah.”
“That was also too poor to be a design from an artist. You drew that, too?”
Pierce is wearing a broad smile. “Hell yes, I did.”
“Well, no offense, but you’re not very good. Also, the perspective is off once the body of the serpent starts to turn into that of a dragon. You’re style changes, too. It’s inconsistent. The snake is quite realistic, with scales visible, and the dragon is more symbolic, artistic, with only hints of shape and
“How do you know I’m in Melbourne for anything?”
“You’re American. You’re here for a reason.”
I lick my lips. “I’m here to do an apprenticeship.”
“So you’re not yet a tattoo artist.”
“No, not technically. I’m here to train to be one.”
“You like tattoos?”
“I like the art, the meaning. I like the idea of people wearing their skin as an expression of themselves.”
“Are you any good?”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning. I take a liberal sip from my glass. It actually tastes far better than I thought it would. It’s my first time having champagne. I don’t know the brand, but Veuve Clicquot sounds pretty fancy.
“I think I’m pretty talented. I’m not being stuck-up or anything, just that I know how to analyze my own talent. I’ve spent a lot of time studying drawing technique and all that.”
“So, what, you opening your own shop?”
“No, it doesn’t work like that. I’ve got to apprentice for an established artist, first. They need to vouch for me to get my license. Then I can open my own shop.”
“When do you start?”
“I’ve got an interview tomorrow,” I say.
“Think you’ll get it?”
“I hope so.”
He grins. “What did you think of my tattoos?”
“I didn’t notice them,” I lie.
“Bullshit. Let me tell you something.”
He gestures at me to sit in one of the expensive-looking chairs on the balcony. I do, and he sits after.
“Tell me what?”
“When I first step into the cage, I instantly notice certain things.”
“Like fighting is similar to art. Please .”
“Fighting is an art, Pen. I notice whether he’s a lefty or a righty. I notice which leg he puts his weight on. I notice if he’s strong in the thighs, or strong in the calves.”
“How can you even tell that?”
“The way he stands. Is he putting his weight on the balls of his feet – which suggests calf strength, which means he can change direction quickly – or does he rest more on his heels? That suggests he’s got upper-leg strength. He can push, bully, kick.”
“You notice all of that, huh?”
“Fucking right I do. I notice if he watches my eyes, or if he watches my fists. I notice if he inhales through his mouth, or through his nose.”
“What’s your point, Pierce? The intricacies of fighting technique are boring.” I flash him a quick smile.
He grins. “My point is that this is what I do. I notice it. So, if tattooing is what you do – or what you want to do – then you’ll notice it, for sure. So, don’t lie to me. Tell me what you thought of my tattoos.”
I hold my breath, leave him hanging. He’s got this small smile, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I relent. “The wolf on your shoulder is detailed, intricate. It’s not a stencil, but a personal design. The ears are slightly out of line – I’m talking perspective here. The eyes may be a little close to each other, but I’m guessing that effect fades the closer you get. The shading on the fur is imperfect; with wolf’s fur, or any animal, really, you can definitely achieve more depth and volume with better technique.” I pause, look into his bright eyes. “Did you design it?”
He laughs. “I did.”
“You should have let your artist make some corrections.”
“She tried to,” Pierce says.
“But you didn’t want her to?”
“No.”
“And the serpent on your chest and stomach… that looked like it started out as a snake, but turned into a dragon.”
“Yeah.”
“That was also too poor to be a design from an artist. You drew that, too?”
Pierce is wearing a broad smile. “Hell yes, I did.”
“Well, no offense, but you’re not very good. Also, the perspective is off once the body of the serpent starts to turn into that of a dragon. You’re style changes, too. It’s inconsistent. The snake is quite realistic, with scales visible, and the dragon is more symbolic, artistic, with only hints of shape and
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