Zombie

-Z o m b i e-

“I'd rather die while I'm living than live while I'm dead. ” 

Thor narrows his eyes in suspicion: This can’t be the place. It just can’t. Not with this outrageous decor of blue-on-gold-on-red. Awful. Just awful . Makes a man want to tear his eyes out.

But it is; Thor rechecks the address on the card in his hand: the one Fandral gave him.

It matches perfectly. So does the name: ‘’The Forgotten Realm.’’

Thor sighs and pulls out the door, then swears and pushes it (One day he’ll get that right on the first try, you just wait and see!).

The tiny bell above the door jingles and the receptionist: a girl in gold-red uniform looks up from the desk, her annoyance turning into awe within a second.

‘’How can I be of service?’’ She all but purrs at the blonde.

Thor is used to this kind of reaction: he’s barely even phased anymore.

‘’I’m looking to get a tattoo,’’ He answers, making a point of out being polite, looking the girl up and down: Curly, black hair past her shoulders, brown, kind eyes, huge breasts bursting out from behind the low cut top. Thor sighs sadly: It’s a pity a pretty girl like that has to wear that horrible thing. She’d be way cuter in sweatshirt and jeans: looks like the type.

‘’Got an appointment?’’ The girl asks, looking down, at laptop screen.

‘’Um… No.’’ Thor replies. ‘’I’m kinda new to this, you know? But my friend here, gave me this card and told me to come here.’’

The girl nods in understanding, smiling. ‘’First time?’’

Thor nods, leaning on the counter, smiling down at her.

She blushes scarlet.

‘’I’d love to help you, but our best artists aren’t that easy to get ahold of,’’ she says, cautiously, ‘’And they’re not cheap, either, I’m afraid.’’

‘’I understand,’’ Thor says instantly, ‘’Money is not an issue. I just don’t know what exactly am i looking for and it’s a big deal, you know?’’

‘’We do lots of styles here at ‘’Forgotten Realm’’ the girl states, proudly, ‘’Neo, Abst, Japanese, Dotwork, whatever you need.’’

Thor has no idea what any of those are.

The girl, probably, senses his confusion, which is, frankly, not surprising at all, give how clueless he’s acting; he’s never seen much appeal in coloring up his skin, but almost everyone he knows, has a tat or two; or, more like, couple dozen of them;  He’s probably the one biker on this God’s green earth, that doesn’t see the point in putting some weird-ass drawings on himself that he’ll get bored of eventually anyway.

But there’s only so much your best friends can’t convince you of, if they try hard and long enough. Everyone around him seems to be hellbent on getting him to tattoo shop this side of the year.

So here he is; feeling like a fish out of water (and into the Goddamn Sahara desert, more like), in this outrageously colored room (the walls are fucking green and red? Like seriously? Green? Red? Just pick a color and run with it, man!), jumping a bit on a sound of buzz coming from back rooms (which is where the magic happens, probably), Scrolling through pages upon pages of different tattoo artist portfolios of all kind and still having no idea why he is here.

The bell gives that annoying sound for the fifth time,  probably, when he walks in. Thor drops a glance at the newcomer from corner of his eye and freezes instantly.

Seeing heavily tattooed people is nothing new to him: lots of his friends tend to go overboard in that regard. And it’s a freakin tattoo shop too, but this guy… That’s something else entirely; he’s covered. All over. All over: including his face, sides of his head, his entire neck and, when he takes off the leather jacket, Thor draws in a sharp breath.

One of the guys hand’s (now he can tell for sure it’s a guy), is entirely covered, the other, left hand, is entirely left blank, like the painter run out of ink and just left it at that, unfinished, without much care. And, somehow , the blank side is creeping Thor out more than the covered rest.

‘’Hey, Zombie!’’ the girl greets, cheerfully. ‘’Tough day?’’

The boy shakes his head mutely, hangs up his leather jacket and reaches for the robe that’s hanging next to it; the blue-gold one. That’s when Thor realizes: He’s not a client.

He’s the artist.

‘’Lots of appointments?’’ the girl tries to engage him again, relentless.

The boy shrugs and his demeanor seems sad to Thor, dejected somehow. God, can he even talk? Maybe he’s mute? Thor fitgets in place, trying to get the guy’s attention, but when he does, he wishes he didn’t: His eyes are green, the black circles (as in literal black circles, inked in, not the sleepless night black circles) make them stand out even more. Hiis head is shaved from both sides and put up in a bun on the top of his head.

‘’Hey man!’’ Thor rushes, trying his best to be friendly. ‘’You work here?’’

The guy looks him up and down, without a word.

‘’You know, I was looking to get a tattoo, maybe you could help me with something, I’m kinda at a  loss here, like, i’ve wanted to get one for a while but no idea what, it’s the first time and I’m…’’

‘’No.’’ The boy says, so unexpected, so cutting and final that it makes Thor flinch.

Ok, so two things: For one, the guy can definitely talk. And for another, his voice is… sexy. Very sexy.

‘’Why not?’’ Thor challenges, getting over his initial shock fairly quickly (the underworld life tends to get you used to stuff like rejection).

‘’I don’t do virgins.’’ He says.

Thor gapes, slack-jawed.

The guy just walks into back without further explanation though. Thor, at a loss, looks at the girl.

‘’He doesn’t.’’ the girl testifies, as if that explains anything.

‘’What the hell does that even mean?’’ Thor scoffs, frustrated, the portfolios still in his hand, wondering which one of them is of the guy.

‘’He doesn’t do first tattoos on anyone.’’  She clarifies.

‘’Why not?’’

The girl shrugs, nonchalant.

‘’What else doesn’t he do?’’ The blonde scoffs, sarcastic.

‘’Fingers, ears, faces, couple tats, colors, bracelets, ready-made designs, replicas,’’ the girl lists like it’s no big deal.

Thor wonders how can someone afford to be that picky. Not like this is the only tattoo shop in the freakin city, which is not so big to begin with.

‘’What’s his name?’’ Thor asks, ‘’I mean,’’ he hurries to clarify when the girl raises an eyebrow at him, ‘’Which portfolio is his?”

‘’The black one,’’ the girl replies, ‘’trust me, you can’t miss it.’’

She’s right: Thor hasn’t gone through that one before and he’d sure as hell not miss it.

It’s a black, leather-bound journal, a single word ‘‘Zombie’’ written in neat silver letters on top.

Thor looks and looks and looks: it’s a fuckin black hole of an album, that’s what it is: so much… black and nothing else. Entire limbs of different shape and size covered all in black, as if someone just dropped the bucket of paint all over them. But at the same time, they’re so… brilliant, so… unique . He can’t find any like the other. Each of them tells a different story; both of the owner and of the maker. There are some deep shapes of animals or letters, but Thor can’t even see or read them. They’re only shadows beyond: as if there’s a black curtain pulled over.

There’s one tattoo that catches his eye the second he sees it: maybe because it’s white and stands out, but even then, it’s fuckin brilliant: a huge serpent, covering a fair-skinned, lean hand, barely even visible, which makes it even more elegant in Thor’s opinion.

Ok, now he knows for sure what he wants: that . Well, not exactly that, but, you know… The guy would probably rip his head off and wear as a keychain if he asked him to do the exact replica of already existing tattoo, even if it was his own design. But, the style… It looks so neat and pleasing and perfect .

So here’s a thing. Actually two things. One: this is not exactly what he wants and he must get that Zombie boy to agree to do the recap for him. Two: he’s a novice. A virgin, as the guy so gallantly put it ( Not that he’s bitter or something, but, man, no one has called him a fuckin virgin in fifteen years. Not like anyone would dare, unless they had a deathwish.), so he needs to get someone else to tattoo him first. Which is all shades of wrong and ridiculous. So, like, according to that guy and his fucked up distorted morals, now he needs to get a tattoo in order to get one he really wants?

Fuck him .

Thor fumes all the way back home, picking up speed and clenching his fists around the steering wheel. The print of mysterious artist’s design burning in his back pocket.

He’ll find a way, Thor thinks, while unlocking the door to his apartment, kicking of his combat boots, getting himself a beer and dropping down on his couch. He’ll figure something out.

Like he always does.

--

He calls the number on the card after a week (Not like he’s gathering up the courage ok? Cause he isn’t!).

‘’Hello?’’ says the somewhat familiar male voice from the other end of the line. ‘’The Forgotten Realm,’’ tattoo studio, how can I help you?’’

‘’Hello, it’s Thor, Thor Odinson,’’ damn why the hell is he nervous? ‘’I wanted to make an appointment with one of your artist this week, if possible?’’

‘’Oh, really?’’ The guy asks, a bit too sarcastic for customer service staff member, but it’s a tattoo shop, so what the hell does Thor know what they are like? ‘’Someone in particular?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Thor says, pausing, drawing couple more triangles on the paper on his knees, biting his lips. Is the guy’s real name Zombie? Can’t be. Too absurd. But he dives in anyway.

‘’The Zombie.’’

There’s a silence for a second. For all Thor knows, the guy’s checking the free hours. But he’s got the feeling that is not the case.

‘’You got the design figured?’’ The receptionist asks.

Thor nods, then facepalms. ‘’Yes,’’ he lies, though he has no idea why.

‘’Discussed with the artist?’’ The guy follows him down.

‘’Yes.’’ he says again.

Then Thor hears a snicker. A snicker !

‘’Thor Odinson?’’ the guy draws out his name.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’You’re a fuckin liar, dear.’’

Thor gapes.

‘’You don’t have nothing discussed.’’

‘’Excuse me?’’

‘’You’re that virgin guy, aren’t you?’’

Thor blushes scarlet.

‘’So, Thor,’’ says the familiar voice that now Thor can place and it make him want to crawl into a hole and die. It’s him. God, it’s that guy! Damn his cunt of a luck! What were the chances of that arrogant asshole picking up a random phone call?

‘’Listen, mate,’’ he tries to reason. ‘’So, I don’t have it discussed. I looked at your portfolio though, man it’s amazing! And I thought..’’

‘’Tsk, tsk, flattery,’’ the other guy sighs. ‘’So unoriginal and dull, Thor.’’

‘’I loved the snake design. I want one.’’ Thor cuts in, bravely.

Silence. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

‘’Saturday, half past twelve.’’ he hears and can’t quite believe his ears. ‘’Don’t be late.’’

The line goes dead, having Thor stare at smartphone in his hands in shock, wondering what kind of Twilight Zone has he just landed in.

--

Thor’s there at twelve. Or, rather, he’s there quarter to eleven, but realizes how idiotic he’d look sitting in a waiting for for straight up two hours and drives on his bike around the block couple more times. He finds a cute, hipster-y books plus coffee shop, gets himself an espresso, double (he’s not in habit of getting out of bed before midday on weekends, thank you very much!), drinks it so hot he can still feel the burn in his throat hour and half later. Parks his bike, takes a stroll around, buys a pack of cigarettes, smokes two of them, helps an old lady take her groceries up to the third floor ( What a nice young man you are, dear! Come in have a cup of tea! I have freshly baked apple pie ! (he doesn’t).). Scrolls through facebook couple of times.

Then it’s finally time.

The shop is just as outrageous as a week ago. The design still blinds him, making him wish he was colorblind.

The same girl is minding the counter.

‘’Hey!’’ she greets as one would old friend.

‘’Hey,’’ says Thor back, his stomach tying itself into knots. ‘’I have an appointment. Odinson, Thor.’’ half-worried that it all will turn out to be a cruel joke of some kind. That the guy didn’t actually write his name down into the list (like he’d have any proof that they talked if that were the case!). Or that he dreamed up the whole conversation in the first place.

The girl nods, looks down, checking, then looks up, her eyes wide. ‘’With him ?’’

Thor breathes a sigh of relief and beams, proudly.

‘’Oh, man,’’ The girl says, awed, ‘’How did you manage?’’ she whispers, conspiratorial.

‘’I’ve no idea,’’ Thor whispers back with a same tone, like he’s the president about to reveal the secret of nuke launch codes to her or something.

‘’Yea, wait here, I’ll ask if he’s free,’’ The girl says, disappearing behind the curtain.

She appears after a minute beckoning him close, whispering ‘’Good luck sweetie!’’ Into his ear and goes back to her place, laughing her ass off.

Thor feels like he’s been set up for some painful and humiliating kind of execution, of which everyone but himself is aware.

The room is small and, surprisingly, white. No extra flash. No colors. Nothing. Feels like a breath of fresh air compared to the rest pitiful job on interior design in this place.

The tattoo artist is sitting on a plastic char, another one right next to him, small table in the middle, with lots of papers on and black stationary supplies of all kind: markers, pens, pencils of all thickness and size, erasers, sharpeners…

‘’Well, then,’’ the guy says, ‘’Sit.’’

‘’I’m Thor,’’ he says, holding out a hand and feeling like a moron a second later when the other doesn’t shake it.

‘’I know.’’

Thor sighs and sits down on the only free chair backwards.

‘’And you are?’’

‘’Your tattoo artist for today.’’

Thor scrowls.

‘’It’s customary to say one’s name in return.’’ he says, sounding much like his mother.

The guy arches an eyebrow at him. Probably, Thor wouldn’t even see it (or realize he had them to begin with), if they weren’t sitting literally two inches apart.

‘’Zombie.’’

‘’That can’t be a real name.’’

‘’Why not?’’

‘’No one in their right mind would call a kid that.’’

‘’I called myself that.’’ The guy, Zombie, cuts, cold.

‘’Why?’’

He shrugs.

‘’So, what are we looking at?’’

‘’How old are you?’’

‘’Zombie’’ glares at him, annoyed.

‘’I didn’t realize this was a blind date and we were playing twenty questions.’’

‘’Hey, I’m just tryna make a conversation!’’ Thor protests.

‘’Why?’’

Thor doesn’t answer. Why indeed? Cause he might just have hots for this weird guy? Is it the mystery? The thrill? Who knows.

‘’I want a white tattoo,’’ he says instead, pointing at all the black markers around.

Zombie throws him a distasteful glare, like Thor just said he wanted an infinity shaped anus tattooed on his forehead and in pink at that.

‘’Black make all the colors.’’ he claims.

Well, Thor himself knows something about painting and that statement couldn’t be farther from the truth, but he doesn’t point it out.

‘’You work here a long time?’’ he asks instead.

‘’You don’t give up, do you?’’ The Zombie asks, more amusement in his voice than bitterness.

‘’Nope.’’ Thor smirks. ‘’Surrender isn’t in my nature.’’

The guy looks up from the paper he’s scratching something down on, in a handwriting suited for a MD and laughs. Actually laughs. Thor feels weird kind of butterflies flip in his stomach at the sound: it’s so human. So… warm and nice.

After that, Zombie acts less like a whiny brat and more like a professional artist. He takes measurements (Thor decides he wants left hand tattooed, yey!), writes down everything his client has to say, nodding and nibbling the pen every now and then.

They say goodbye after an exhausting hour, during which Thor feels like he’s banging head against a brick wall. He drives home, his curiosity still unsated, irrationally worried and annoyed at the world, but  vaguely hopeful and excited at the same time.