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Still Standing


alderwitch

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At first glance, the tall man leaning against the exterior of the imposing Freedom League headquarters, looked like he might be smoking far too close to the building's entrance. A closer look, however, would reveal that the ember dancing along his tattooed knuckles wasn't connected to anything at all, and certainly not a cigarette. Bowing to the winter weather, Ray wore his leather jacket over the tank top and BDU's that he worked in. Immortality did not, sadly, provide an immunity to cold and while the spark of light in his hands kept his fingertips warm, he'd have to summon something far larger and far more eye catching to heat anything more than his fingertips. 

 

Technically, he was finished offering his 'consultation', although Ray didn't think that he'd provided anything unknown to the magic-users attached to the Freedom League, but Ray was trying to be a bit more environmentally conscious and take advantage of the city's public transportation system. His good intentions, however, were going straight out the window if the damn bus took another ten minutes. 

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As he watched, a woman hurried out of HQ's front door, immediately hunching over a little from the cold. She was dressed unusually, in what looked to be a long brown cloak with a jacket front and a heavy hood, but this being the Freedom League, weird clothes weren't actually that out of the ordinary. She seemed intent on heading for the taxi stand but paused just a few feet from Ray, her attention caught by a couple of struggling Christmas treelets in heavy concrete planters. Some optimistic soul had decked them out in lights and decorations, but the small trees were looking more brown than evergreen. She considered them gravely for a moment, then waved a hand in their direction.. Immediately the trees began to look healthier, growing taller and straighter, filling out with extra needles of the most lustrous green. 

 

Nodding to herself in approval, the woman stepped away, catching Ray's eye as she turned. Noticing him looking, she gave him a friendly, almost self-deprecating smile, as though she were just a little embarrassed to be caught. 

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Ray squinted a little as her silhouette seemed familiar but not immediately recognizable. When her magic touched the plants, though, it clicked into place. Shifting the ball of dancing light to his palm, where his fingers could curl around the warmth, he straightened away from the entrance to take a few long strides in order to catch up. 

 

"Fighting against the inevitable?" Ray asked, his tone somewhere along the spectrum of bemused as he caught up to Stesha's side. Gesturing with his empty hand towards his chest, he offered his name, "I'm not sure if you remember me? I'm Ray. Heyzel's... ah, cousin." Ray settled on, having never been fond of the 'brother-uncle' descriptor that the younger angel preferred. ("Mercy's sake, it sounds like we're from back-woods Alabama when you say it that way.") 

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Her expression brightened with recognition. "Oh, of course! I thought you looked familiar." She pushed her hood back despite the cold, simultaneously improving her vision and revealing her emerald-green braids. "I'm Stesha," she added, just so he'd be spared the embarrassment of asking if he'd forgotten. "And everything's inevitable, on a long enough timeline. But there's no reason it has to happen today." Up close, the piney smell of the trees was stronger, mixed with a faint floral aroma that was Stesha herself. "What brings you to HQ?" she asked curiously. 

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"That's debatable but I don't think you're looking for philosophical debates standing on the street in this weather," Ray countered with a sidelong smile, "If I've learned one thing over the years, its that humanity is nothing if not surprising in defying any sort of imposed order, or reason. Did you need a cab?"

 

He turned towards the street a little, in case she was in a hurry, but the slight grimace on his features was clear in profile, "Oh, nothing important. There was a question about one of the heavens, some minor thing, but apparently my name is on a roster now. I am starting to suspect that Heyzel has me down as his emergency contact. I don't think I provided any information that wasn't already known. Really, they have the metaphysics down probably better than I do. Unless the question is, 'Is that an original Rembrant, or is it a knock off', I'm really probably not too much use to the League."

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"It is too cold for any philosophical debate," Stesha agreed wholeheartedly. "Winter is not my favorite time of year in this town. She grinned and waved a hand vaguely. "I don't really know what I'm doing, I have three hours to kill before my next meeting in there and I didn't feel like going all the way home and coming back. I had some vague thought about asking a cab driver to take me to whatever restaurant they liked best. I'm not too picky, so long as it's warm." Even though she was wearing fuzzy brown mittens (slightly incongruous with what was, on closer inspection, a superhero costume), she still scrubbed her hands together to warm them. "Now remind me again, you're an artist?" 

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"It depends on who you ask," was Ray's wry response to that question. Shifting a little, he bounced the spark between his hands once more, gathering light from the tattoos along his skin until it was more the size of a golf ball, and producing more heat for its increased size before Ray held it out for her to take with exactly zero reverence for the holy energy that he was treating as a handwarmer. "Here, cup your hands around this and I'll see if I can flag down a cab."

 

Raising one long arm up, Ray took advantage of his height to signal for one of the taxis pulling in. "I work as a tattoo artist; I have a little shop across town. It pays the bills, and in a town like Freedom City, you get a certain stable clientele when you have a reputation for dealing with quirks like impervious skin or scales, or what-have-you." He paused before adding, "I was just heading back there. If you have some time to kill, you're welcome to come with me. There's a cafe that's right down the block, or I can put on some tea, or coffee. I don't have any clients slotted in as I never know if its going to be a 'five minutes' sort of consult or a 'whoops, now we're fighting the angel of death and there goes your afternoon', with you people." Ray added that last with what was clearly amusement. 

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Stesha took the ball with no hesitation, cupping it between her palms. The heat and light brought a faint green flush to her skin, but she looked a lot less uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know that feeling," she laughed, walking with him toward the taxi stand. "Part of the reason I don't usually go home on days when I have League duties. It''s a little embarrassing when I'm supposed to be on call but I've snuck out of the dimension for lunch. I'd love to see your place, though. I've never been in a tattoo parlor," she admitted with a small grin. "It sounds fascinating, and if you have both heat and coffee, it should be just about perfect."

 

Still carefully juggling the ball, she slid into the taxi that stopped for them, then pushed  her cowl back all the way to let it drape over her shoulders. Fleur de Joie had never had much of a civilian identity anyway. "It's warm," she observed, getting a closer look at the little sphere of light, "but it doesn't hurt. What's it made of?" 

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Ray held the door open for Stesha, before following her into the warmth of the cab with a soft sigh of relief. He wasn't overly fond of the cold, but - really - he suffered more than he needed to in not wanting to vary his wardrobe too much. Part of that was practical since he required access to the ink covered skin in case of emergency, but a good dose of it was pure stubborn dislike of changing up something he found comfortable. Ray leaned forward to give brief directions to the driver, before settling back against the seat. 

 

"It has a bit of a hipster vibe," Ray admitted, "Different than the hole-in-a-wall that I learned at decades back, in London." 

 

At her question, he glanced down at the sphere she was holding. "Oh, same as everything else I pull out of my tattoos, a bit of holy energy, a dash of creation. Light and warmth is easy to pull, even for someone in my bracket of the hierarchy. Well..." Ray paused and then amended, "I'm not really supposed to tap into any of it while I'm on a sabbatical but it is useful. Its harmless, barring demonic possession or an undead trying to lick it. Would not recommend."

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Stesha quirked an eyebrow at the suggestion of licking the globe, sternly suppressing the very inappropriate desire to try it just to see what would happen. Instead she dropped a seed into her palm and grew it around the ball, till it was the glowing center of a pink water lily. "Now there's a floating candle," she decided, rather charmed by her own work. "I will make sure none of my undead friends lick it." She leaned back comfortably against the seat, turning her attention back fully to Ray. "Do you do your own work?" she asked, gesturing to his inked skin. 

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Ray watched the flower grow with an artist's appreciation but no noteworthy awe. He was well aware that the flower was as much effort, if not less, than it took him to summon a little ball of light for Stesha but he appreciated the artistry of it none the less. "You could put up a little sign," he replied with a wry smile before glancing down to the tattoos that extended past the cuff of his leather jacket and onto the back of his hand. Today, they were most recently covered in the golden whorls of light that he'd pulled his hand-warmer from.

 

"Yes and no," Ray said as he pulled up the cuff of his jacket, pointing to the enochian tattoos that were hidden among the more colorful artistic designs, "These are the actual tattoos that I have, and I designed all of them, though I only tattooed where I could personally reach. The pictures are a manifestation based on the spells inked into my skin. So, I form them with my thoughts but can't claim the artwork in a more traditional sense."

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Stesha leaned over to observe the tattoos with fascination, especially the glowing lines near his wrists. One hand came up a little as though to touch, but she restrained herself politely. "Those are really beautiful," she told him. "The ones you did, and the other ones too." She smiled suddenly, crooked and almost rueful. "I'm sure you get this all the time now but I have to ask or it's just gonna eat at me. Have you seen the movie Moana?" She waved a hand and laughed before he could even answer. "I know, I know, it's just that I have a six year old daughter, so I've seen it about a million times and I know the question would just eat at me. Sorry." 

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That surprised a laugh out of Ray. He glanced down at the tattoos, "Enough to know the gist. These are very different from the Polynesian designs that Maui sports... and have no personality of their own. Which is good, really, the last thing I need is something that gives me sass inked onto my skin."

 

Still chuckling, Ray leaned forward to pay their driver as the cab pulled up alongside one of those trendy, shop-lined streets of downtown Riverside. Ray's shop was within walking distance from the university, so Eternal Ink was tucked in between a variety of hipster-friendly stores, much as he had warned, and book ended on his block by competing cafes. "You're never going to find parking, just pull over there," Ray pointed towards a delivery spot and opened the door to let both himself and Stesha out. She had time to take in the brightly lit glass storefront that provided a window into the clean parlor. There were a few stations inside, all of them standing empty, and a hand lettered sign hung on the door to signal that the store would be 'open later'. 

 

Reaching into his pocket, Ray fished out a ring of keys to unlock the shop and held it open. "Come on in. Did you want tea, or coffee?" Ray invited. The most noteworthy feature was the in-progress mural along one-wall that had faint signs that it was not the first mural to be painted onto the wall as there had been several as Ray decided to paint it over and start again. This one was music inspired, with swirls of notes and instruments, and the occasional silhouette of musicians or dancers in motion. 

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"Coffee, please," Stesha requested, setting the fire flower on a counter before pulling off her gloves and tucking them into her pocket. The room was warm enough that she unfastened the buttons of her cowl and let it drape as she walked across the room to examine the mural. Unlike most of her Freedom League cohort, Fleur de Joie didn't wear a snug morphic molecular uniform, instead choosing sturdy trousers and a work shirt in vibrant green. "This is beautiful," she told Ray, examining the partially-finished painting. "Is this your work too?" 

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The tattoo shop was warm, since most of Ray's clients ended up having to disrobe at least partially for the process. Ray slipped his jacket off, slinging it over the back of the chair at the counter as he headed into the back to start the coffee maker. Without the jacket it was clear that his tattoos covered both arms and up under the line of his shirt, running up the back of his neck and into his hair line along his spine. Ray glanced over towards the mural, "Thank you," he replied automatically before admitting, "I don't know if I'll finish it before I start over this time. I was leaning into the whole neighborhood feel these days but I'm not sure I'm happy with it. I'm never really happy with it. That's probably the eleventh or twelfth piece I've stuck on that wall without being satisfied. The nice thing about working in tattoos is that I really have to commit to making something there. It's not my strong suit."

 

Ray volunteered conversationally from where he made up two mugs of coffee, bringing them back over towards the counter at the front that held the register. "There's sugar and creamer that my employees have steadily scavenged from the coffee shops below the counter if you need either. So, how is it working in the big leagues? Is it as much bureaucracy and politics as it seems like?" Ray asked the last with a grin. 

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Stesha laughed. "There's more paperwork than I thought would be involved when I first decided to become a superhero," she admitted, "but it's really not that bad. A lot of it is paperless these days, I have an app on my phone that I can plug information into and be done before debriefing. And a lot of the paperwork is designed to make sure that when I see something that's been destroyed or someone who needs help, I can make sure they get a referral to the right city services before I forget in the crush of everything else that's happening. I figure it helps me keep my promises when I tell people that everything's going to be all right."

 

She took a sip of the coffee, then added a judicious amount of cream and sugar. "And I'm sure there's plenty of politics going on, but it doesn't touch me directly. Most of the people on the League right now are good friends of mine, so it's not as though we're jockeying for status or leadership or anything like that. Sometimes it is frustrating," she allowed, "especially when we have to wait to go into a situation when we're needed because of logistics or politics or whatever, but as long as I'm convinced that it's nobody on our end engaging in pointless politicking, I can live with it. To a certain extent." She smiled into her mug, a look that suggested she may have taken matters into her own hands a time or two. "It's good of you to consult for the League, we need all the help we can get. Today's consult was a bust, though?" 

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"I think there's very little that I can offer the League that isn't already covered," Ray replied pragmatically as he cupped his hands around the mug. He didn't add anything to his cup, drinking the coffee black. It was absolutely an acquired taste but with a tendency towards odd hours, he'd learned the value of caffeine. "It takes a very peculiar sort of case for my particular expertise to be of any real use, really. The sort of problems that I can be of any help with don't usually make it into the League's stratosphere of problems to worry about. I do the occasional demonic possession or handle a particularly obstinate poltergeist for locals, but unless it happens to be very specific questions about angelic politics, there's not much I could provide that isn't already well known to the League members that handle that sort of thing - and honestly, most angel things should wait until Heyzel is around. I'm only liable to make any sort of discussions more strained if there's some sort of fracas with the assorted heavens."

 

Ray gave a phlegmatic shrug, looking unconcerned with his status in the grand scheme of things. His smile was lopsided, "I am very used to being a small fish in a large pond. I'm comfortable with it. 

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"You sound like me six years ago," Stesha pointed out, tongue in her cheek. "Back then I was going out at night to save people's gardens and perk up the flowerbeds at the park. I think the only real constant in the superhero game is surprise. You never know when something could come up to change everything for you." She walked across the room to look at one of the portfolio books on display. "But I understand being happy with an auxiliary role. You've got a great setup here, but it must take a lot of your time." She paged through the book, admiring the intricate tattoo work inside.  

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"I'm not really much of a team-sort of person. Most of my work was a solitary sort before I decided to embrace the whole 'tortured artist' routine." Ray said with a small smirk at his self deprecating comment. He dropped onto the stool, one long leg stretched out absently. He'd clearly picked out the chair as it accommodated his height. "Not as busy as you think. It's a little like a hair salon, people rent chairs so mostly I tend to be a warm body for the occasional walk in but I don't really like doing the same tattoo on some drunk college student. My last apprentice graduated to doing his own clients, so I'm at loose ends. Hence..."

 

He waved one hand towards the fresh mural. "...Idle hands and all that. I have a few weekly volunteer appointments that help at least." Ray grinned, "If I hadn't been bored, I'd probably have been able to muster an excuse instead of trooping down to the headquarters today."

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"You wear the tortured artist look well," she assured him with a half-smile, directed mostly into her coffee cup. "I assume you're the one who handles any unusual commissions that come in? People who would be hard to tattoo otherwise?" Stesha flexed her own fingers, looking down at the very normal, nearly fragile-looking skin. "I have never personally tested it, but a couple scientist friends of mine are pretty sure I could withstand a direct hit from a strategic nuclear weapon," she commented idly. "Nothing has been able to break my skin in years, and anything that hurts me heals almost instantly, so I've always just assumed tattoos are off the table. I imagine yours don't use normal needles?" 

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"Thank goodness. This is the only look I have," Ray replied with a grin as he twisted to face her, hooking his boot through the stool to keep his balance. "There are a handful of tattoo artists that work on metahuman or supernatural skin globally. Now THOSE are entertaining consultations. Do you mind coming over here to let me take a look?"

 

Ray held one tattooed hand out for her to take if she was willing to cross the space to do so. "I use all sorts of things - and I always enjoy the challenge of a new case. I tattooed a demigoddess once. I've done skin, scales, feathers, chitonous plating." Ray kept up the conversation, partially out of habit for making clients feel at ease, and partially because he was genuinely warming to his topic. "You sound like you'd be a tough one. Honestly, the trick isn't marking the skin, so much as finding something that will work to fix the images to the skin that won't cause other adverse reactions. Not everyone is excited about scarification - I've done that too but I don't particular care for it. Piercings as well. You become a bit of a jack of all trades as there's so few people working in the field. Most of my work done required ritual and magic to stick."

 

He grinned up at her, reaching out to encircle her wrist, "A nuclear blast would probably atomize my body, but I'm sturdier than the average mortal. Susceptible to the unholy, like most of my kind, but I wouldn't try to tattoo myself with it. I imagine the allergic reaction would be unpleasant to say the least. Tattoos aren't out the window, did you have something in mind?"

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Stesha put her hand in his without hesitation, palm side down. She had a little dirt under her nails and in her cuticles, an unavoidable occupational hazard. Her skin was warm and soft, not even callused the way a gardener's might be, much less someone who could bounce a bullet. "Not anything specific," she admitted, "but I've always thought they were beautiful. I was going to get one in college, but my dad would've had an even bigger heart attack than he did when I moved into off-campus housing, so I held off awhile, and then superpowers!" She made a little exploding motion with her free hand, laughing slightly. "Back then I always thought flowers because I was studying botany, but now I feel like that might be a little too on point with my whole theme." 

 

She studied his skin, not bothering to be circumspect about it, not with his arm right there and her hand in his. "Which was your first one?"

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He touched her wrist with surprising gentleness, although perhaps not all that surprising. He had to have a deft touch to do the art that he did, but it was out of keeping with the appearance that he presented, certainly. Cupping her hand with one large palm, he ran his other fingertips over the back of her hand lightly, testing the skin. 

 

"It's better to wait," Ray offered his opinion, his gaze still down on her hand and a small smile curving his mouth. "Even if it goes against my professional interests, I always tell clients that if they're serious about a tattoo, especially the first one, they should pick a design and give it a year before inking it into their skin. Most people aren't all that patient, though."

 

Ray rubbed his thumb thoughtfully across her knuckles, half his thoughts still running through what he might be able to use to ink her apparently impervious skin, but he was listening enough to catch the interest. "The first tattoo that I did is on my thigh and its terrible. The shading is inconsistent. It's a bit of a mess, but something of a right of passage." Shifting in his chair, he lifted his shirt up high enough to display his ribs, and in among the more brightly colored tattoos from his magic, inked along the side of his ribs was an architectural drawing of the tower of London bridge, faded but elegant with the sharp, clean lines, "That's the first one I had done, not that long after I got this body."

 

Ray chuckled as he let his shirt fall. "I did NOT wait a year, for the record."

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"That's really nice," Stesha told him, leaning in for a better look.  It occurred to her that he hadn't let go of her hand, but it wasn't something she felt like complaining about right at this exact moment. "I think the waiting for a year bit is probably a good idea," she agreed as she straightened.  "Especially in my case, since those same smart science friends suggest that forever might be more than a figure of speech for me. That really is a very long time to live with a tattoo I didn't think through beforehand." She smiled a little ruefully. "Why London Bridge?" 

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Ray let his shirt drop down with the same sort of casual ease that he'd raised it. "Well, for a first tattoo, I'd suggest starting small, especially since it'll be a bit of an experiment and tinkering to see what works on your skin, and what doesn't. You can always add on if you love it. And if you hate it, its a lot easier to have it removed if its small - or have it covered up."

 

Shifting his grip on her hand gently, he flipped her wrist over. "You could get something small, here. The skin is sensitive but I'm always fond of the inside of the wrist for delicate, personal tattoos." With his free hand, he traced one fingertip over the inside of her wrist, sketching out a few quick lines to elaborate on his point, "I wouldn't rule out flowers, either, they clearly have been an enormous part of your life. Flowers don't mean trite design; a water color blossom, maybe. Something without dark outlines."

 

He was clearly starting to turn over ideas in his mind for his sketchbook, only to realize that he'd forgotten to answer her question. "Well, it was London in the 1980s and there was a huge skinhead movement. Union Jack tattoos had a rather unpleasant side association, and the art was only really starting to become more acceptable. I didn't want anything that would be along those lines - obviously - but I wanted something to remind me where I started."

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