Tiffany woke with a sigh, turning over to look at the clock. She groaned as she rolled out of bed and changed into a pair of jeans and a studded black asymmetrical tank top. She pulled on her black tennis shoes and made her way to the bathroom. She carefully put her earrings in, changed her tongue bar and her belly ring, and cleaned her newest piercing – her eyebrow. She smiled at herself as she pulled a brush through her long blond hair, then brushed her teeth, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door to her new bright green Rav4.
Her car came to a screeching halt as she pulled into her parking spot, locked the door, and walked up to her place of work – The Body Studio. She unlocked the door with a slight smirk and turned the sign over to open. She flipped on the lights and gasped, then rolled her eyes and dropped her purse into a cabinet. She groaned as she picked James up out of the floor, gently smacking him to wake him.
“Dude, you gotta quit drinking so damn much,” she moaned. He giggled.
“I know.”
“You know, it’s really sad when you wake up drunk,” she said as she handed him a cup of water. He nodded, his face twisting as he took a drink. “Look, why don’t you go home, take a nap, and come back when you’re sober?”
“But I have to work today,” he insisted, his words still slurring.
“Yeah, and you’re gonna get your ass sued when you pass out in the middle of a tattoo, or mess up a piercing because you can’t see straight. Just call Satira. She’ll come pick you up and take you home.”
“But my car’s here.”
“I’ll pick you up when you’re sober.”
“You sure?”
“Um… yeah. I don’t really want you passed out on the couch when someone walks in here wanting something pierced or tattooed. Think about it.” She rolled her eyes, propped him up, and called Satira. Satira owned the studio, and claimed to have tattooed some celebrities. Tiffany had only been there a few months, but as the only tribal tattoo artist and primary piercer, she was making quite a bit of money. The thing she liked most about this line of work was that she loved it – she herself was pierced and tattooed, and she loved the reactions she got when someone saw himself finished. Five minutes later, James was at home and Satira was walking into the studio.
“He’s such a moron,” she said as she removed her sunglasses. Tiffany laughed, agreeing. The phone rang and Satira picked it up. Tiffany busied herself with inventory. “Body Studio, this is Satira… Hey… how are ya?… Great. What’s up?… Really? Cool. Do you know what you want this time?… Well, I’ve got a couple of new people, so you can look at some of their stuff… uh-huh… okay. See you then. Bye darlin’.” Satira hung up the phone with a contented sigh and rummaged through the mail. “Has the new jewelry shipment come in yet?” Tiffany nodded, her pen in her mouth. She pointed to the counter, where a large box sat. “Cool. We got some new stuff no one’s seen before – you want to claim dibs?” Satira wiggled her eyebrows evilly. Tiffany laughed, dropping her pen. She picked it up and ripped open the box, pulling out a large bag filled with jewelry. She rummaged through, picking out three tongue bars that struck her fancy, as well as a few belly bars and rings and a couple of eyebrow rings. She sighed, looking at the eyebrow jewelry.
“You know, I don’t think I’m gonna keep this thing,” she said, fingering her eyebrow ring. Satira’s eyebrow rose, her own eyebrow ring jingling and dancing. She liked to wear rings with things dangling from them. Tiffany didn’t know how it didn’t get in her way while she was tattooing someone.
“Why, babe?”
“I don’t know, Satira. It just doesn’t really seem like me.” She sighed.
“Well, leave it in for a few more days until you decide for sure. You know you don’t want to have to pierce it again.”
“It’s no big deal,” she insisted. “I did it myself, so I don’t care about doing it again. Piercing doesn’t hurt – you know that.” Satira nodded.
“I didn’t know you did it yourself.”
“Yeah,” Tiffany replied. “Logan had already gone home, and I wanted it done, so I did it myself. Plus, I don’t know if I’d want Logan to do it. I even told myself how to take care of it out loud.” Satira laughed, shaking her head. Tiffany wanted to know who had called, but she decided not to say anything. She put the jewelry she had just picked out in her purse and went back to her “office,” a small area along the right wall with a chair and several drawers filled with equipment. She went through all of her supplies, making sure she had enough. She heard the doorbells jingle, and Satira calling her name. She sighed, closing her drawers, picking up an almost empty bottle of Listerine, and walked down the hall to the front of the store. A man in his early forties was there, covered in tattoos. She smiled and nodded at Satira, silently asking her what was up.
“He needs a retouch on one of his tattoos.” Tiffany nodded and led him back to her area. She readied the equipment and began working on his tattoo. The hours passed and few customers came in. It was one of their slow days of the week – for some reason not a lot of people came in on Mondays. At about three, an eighteen-year-old guy came in, wanting his first tattoo. They flipped through the drawings Tiffany had done of various tribal designs. He decided on a dragon, and she led him back to her chair, readying them both for his tattoo.
“Where do you want it?” she asked while laying out all the stuff she would need.
“My back, on my shoulder blade,” he said.
“Which one?” He thought for a minute, and she stopped, watching him with  a smirk.
“Right,” he said. She nodded.
“What color?” He sighed.
“I guess I should have thought about all of this before I came, huh?” She laughed.
“It’s no big deal. We have people come in all the time and spend hours just deciding what design they want.” He laughed.
“Well, you’re the expert. What would look best?” She smiled, standing. She unbuckled her pants and pulled them down a ways to reveal one of her own tattoos on her hip - a smaller version of the dragon he had picked out.
“I liked the green with red and orange flames, myself.” His eyes got big, and he laughed. “I did this one on a guy that was black with blue and red flames, and this other one on a chick with purple and red and silver flames.” He sat and thought a moment while she fixed her clothes and sterilized his shoulder.
“What about black with blue and orange flames?” She nodded.
“You sure?” He gulped and nodded. She laughed. “Don’t worry – it’ll only hurt for a little while. Then it goes numb.” He nodded, still looking rather scared. She started in on his tattoo, concentrating fully while still chatting. About halfway through the tattoo, they both took a smoke break, then headed back in to finish.
She heard the doorbells jingle again, and Satira talking. A deep voice started talking to the guy she was working on, along with Satira.
“This is my new girl, Tiffany. She’d say hi, but it looks like she’s kinda into her work right now.” Laughs. “She also does piercings, Mark.” Tiffany heard another person laugh, then politely decline. She felt someone’s eyes on her, and paused to mop up the blood, glancing up at the people standing there. The first voice she heard belonged to a blond man in his early twenties with stunning blue eyes. The second belonged to a tall, dark man, who immediately struck her fancy. She eyed him discreetly, noticing his fourteen-gauge earrings and paralyzing smile. She returned to the tattoo, finishing quickly. She placed a bandage over it, directed the young guy how to take care of it, and thanked him. She stood, stretching and stifling a yawn. “Tiffany, this is Scottie and Mark.”
“What’s up?” she returned, smiling. “Who’s who?”
“I’m Scottie,” the blond said, “and that’s Mark.” He pointed to the taller man sitting on the couch.
“How do ya’ll know each other?” she asked Satira.
“I did a few of Scottie’s tattoos.” She nodded.
“So exactly how many piercings do you have?” Scottie asked. Mark turned around, facing them, watching her.
“Fifteen.” Mark’s eyebrows went up, and Scottie gaped. “Six in each ear, my tongue,” she stuck it out, revealing a ten-gauge bar, “my belly,” she lifted her shirt to show them, “and I just did my eyebrow.” She fingered it again.
“She did her eyebrow herself,” Satira added proudly. Mark’s eyebrow rose.
“How’d you do that?” Scottie asked.
“Very carefully,” she replied with a laugh. “I just did it like every other piercing, but in front of a mirror. No biggie.” He nodded, seeming to be impressed.
“She went to piercing school, and always had a knack for drawing, so I snagged her while I could.” Satira sat with a smile, and Tiffany rolled her eyes, pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves.
“What do you want pierced now?” Tiffany asked as Scottie laughed.
“Tragus,” Satira replied.
“What’s a tragus?” Mark asked. Tiffany smiled at him.
“It’s the triangular piece of cartilage right before the ear canal,” she said, pointing to the area on herself.
“Ahh.” Mark nodded.
“You sure about this, Satira?” Scottie asked, a concerned look on his face. Satira nodded.
On to Part Two