I miss the days when I had a smile on my face
There was a certain peace that came with finding where you belong. Iskra wasn't sure he had found that yet. Torchline no longer felt like home, and he wouldn't return there. Halo, it had started as a self-imposed punishment, but now it was familiar, and the people there were kind and hard-working. Plus, they could always use wood to fight off the cold, so at the very least, he found a repeatable purpose. He supposed that was the best he could hope for, and took the comfort he could in that.
Sunjata moved from image to image like a book, and Iskra, the eager reader, followed along. He nodded throughout, understanding and appreciation evident on his face. Sunjata had made each choice carefully and carried a piece of his heart in each of them. Iskra wished he could say the same. Earlier, when he said every tattoo had a reason, well, sometimes the reason was being blackout drunk because you couldn't face your grief.
Iskra's fingers worked to undo the buttons on his shirt, peeling back the fabric to expose the myriad of artwork he'd drilled across his chest and arms. Some of it had been exposed past the cloth, but to truly understand it, he had to bare himself in a way that had always been much easier to do than to look within. "This main one on my chest, is the ocean with a lighthouse beating back the darkness and the sea beast. It's to remind me to shine bright, even when times seem dire, because that's how you'll find your way through it." He probably ought to listen to his past self more. "I got that one before I left Torchline. After... after my mother died. When everything went to shit." he admitted it softly, as if the volume might affect the terribleness of it washing over him. This was the second time he'd said his mother died out loud. The first time had been to Mel. Then his anxiety had crept up his throat so tightly he'd excused himself and slipped out the bathroom window just to escape her. Damn fool. Well, there were no windows here.
He continued on with a slight stammer, focusing on the ink, using it as a tool to keep the memory focused on earning the tattoo and less on the why. It was easier to explain it that way. A memory of a memory. "T-t-then the oceans, a-a-and the beasts extended to each arm, for the world is vast and full of monstrosities, we must try to sail past. It's also why the words, hold fast, are on me twice. A reminder of strength when your sails threaten to buckle." The words were split along his breast, then layered along his left bicep. "Some candles," he pointed along his left arm, "More brightness to carry in the dark." He grinned a bit broadly now, as his fingers swept to some roses, some berries, an owl, a hammer, and various symbols and names. "These... I was too drunk to remember. Some, I think, I've seen in my dreams. I have the same one sometimes. It's like another world. There's a great sundering of a place full of pegasus and unicorns and magic. It's chaotic and terrible, but it feels like I know them." He laughs with a shake of his head. "Might make sense if I was Attuned, but the only thing I can shift is..." he looked pointedly towards his pants as he shrugged his shirt back on fully.
He'd sobered up a fair bit. The numbness had faded to leave the bite of his past, and while he shifted uncomfortably on the log, he did not reach for the Tequila again, not yet.
"Have you lost anyone like that?" he asked quietly again. It was a plea not to be alone in this. "I know most of us have... lost someone." he admitted with his gaze downcast, suddenly unable to stop staring at his hands. "But my mother... she died when I was younger. My father was dead before I was born, so it felt like she was all I had. Some siblings, too, but they were older, scattered already. It had been me and her against the world, but the world won." Iskra went silent, but it didn't stop him from wondering how you were supposed to move on from that kind of loss. Changing a home is one thing. Changing your whole world? He felt like he didn't belong anywhere, like he was an alien here, pretending to be happy and to relax, but all the while knowing he never fully would again because it was gone. He'd had his turn already, and now it was spent, and he was here, pretending.
Sunjata moved from image to image like a book, and Iskra, the eager reader, followed along. He nodded throughout, understanding and appreciation evident on his face. Sunjata had made each choice carefully and carried a piece of his heart in each of them. Iskra wished he could say the same. Earlier, when he said every tattoo had a reason, well, sometimes the reason was being blackout drunk because you couldn't face your grief.
Iskra's fingers worked to undo the buttons on his shirt, peeling back the fabric to expose the myriad of artwork he'd drilled across his chest and arms. Some of it had been exposed past the cloth, but to truly understand it, he had to bare himself in a way that had always been much easier to do than to look within. "This main one on my chest, is the ocean with a lighthouse beating back the darkness and the sea beast. It's to remind me to shine bright, even when times seem dire, because that's how you'll find your way through it." He probably ought to listen to his past self more. "I got that one before I left Torchline. After... after my mother died. When everything went to shit." he admitted it softly, as if the volume might affect the terribleness of it washing over him. This was the second time he'd said his mother died out loud. The first time had been to Mel. Then his anxiety had crept up his throat so tightly he'd excused himself and slipped out the bathroom window just to escape her. Damn fool. Well, there were no windows here.
He continued on with a slight stammer, focusing on the ink, using it as a tool to keep the memory focused on earning the tattoo and less on the why. It was easier to explain it that way. A memory of a memory. "T-t-then the oceans, a-a-and the beasts extended to each arm, for the world is vast and full of monstrosities, we must try to sail past. It's also why the words, hold fast, are on me twice. A reminder of strength when your sails threaten to buckle." The words were split along his breast, then layered along his left bicep. "Some candles," he pointed along his left arm, "More brightness to carry in the dark." He grinned a bit broadly now, as his fingers swept to some roses, some berries, an owl, a hammer, and various symbols and names. "These... I was too drunk to remember. Some, I think, I've seen in my dreams. I have the same one sometimes. It's like another world. There's a great sundering of a place full of pegasus and unicorns and magic. It's chaotic and terrible, but it feels like I know them." He laughs with a shake of his head. "Might make sense if I was Attuned, but the only thing I can shift is..." he looked pointedly towards his pants as he shrugged his shirt back on fully.
He'd sobered up a fair bit. The numbness had faded to leave the bite of his past, and while he shifted uncomfortably on the log, he did not reach for the Tequila again, not yet.
"Have you lost anyone like that?" he asked quietly again. It was a plea not to be alone in this. "I know most of us have... lost someone." he admitted with his gaze downcast, suddenly unable to stop staring at his hands. "But my mother... she died when I was younger. My father was dead before I was born, so it felt like she was all I had. Some siblings, too, but they were older, scattered already. It had been me and her against the world, but the world won." Iskra went silent, but it didn't stop him from wondering how you were supposed to move on from that kind of loss. Changing a home is one thing. Changing your whole world? He felt like he didn't belong anywhere, like he was an alien here, pretending to be happy and to relax, but all the while knowing he never fully would again because it was gone. He'd had his turn already, and now it was spent, and he was here, pretending.
Iskra
