Jacoba had to give her brother credit.  So far, he'd managed to find ten different ways to politely ask where they were going without repeating himself.  Jacoba, on the other hand, had simply repeated 'I'm not telling you' after he'd asked the first four times and had settled with a quick, smug grin in his direction at each of the subsequent asks.  He still hadn't given up, though. 

Luckily, the sign was so small and nondescript that her sixteen-year-old brother, Sasha, had yet to take note of it.  It had taken Jacoba, literally, months to notice it herself - largely, that had been a side effect of the whole muggle thing.  Like at Hogsmeade, everything was hidden from Muggles if they didn't know what they were looking for. Jacoba still had no way of knowing whether she was seeing things in the Wizarding World the same way the witches and wizards around her saw them.  But she'd gotten used to that.  When it came to a sign that small, there was no way for Jacoba to realize the tattoo artist was there until Corby had walked her up to the sign, pointed at it and described it in full detail.

Since then, Jacoba's mind had been set on visiting.  And, she knew she had to drag her brother with her.  It was bound to be good for him. 

It wasn't until Jacoba had tugged the door to the shop open that Sasha seemed to recognize, read and register the sign.  It was obvious when he'd finally read it.  He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Jacoba. 

"What are you doing?"  He asked in German, the question almost an accusation. 

"Nothing.  Stop worrying.  I just want to check it out-"  She hesitated, before adding with a sly grin, still in German.  "And, I know you're into art.  So, just look at it as visiting a gallery."  Assuming matters involving tattoos were similar in the wizarding world as in the muggle world, Sasha should have figured out it was unlikely he'd be leaving with his skin embellished.  He was a minor and she didn't, technically, have any legal guardianship over him.  And, she suspected Dreogan wouldn't be happy if Sasha returned home, freshly inked. 

Of course, she'd been a year younger than him when she'd gotten her first tattoo.  She doubted simple fake IDs would cut it in the wizarding world, though. 

Jacoba turned and started into the shop, leaving Sasha to follow or not, as he saw fit.  Behind her, she heard his footsteps turn to leave and then the silence of a pause before he caught up with her at the top of the stairs.  "You can't do this," he insisted behind her, dropping his voice to an uneasy whisper when he spotted the tattooed woman awaiting them in the main room.  Why he bothered whisper, Jacoba didn't know since, unless the woman spoke German, she was unlikely to understand them even if they talked in a normal tone. 

"Good afternoon," she offered the woman in English, ignoring her younger brother as he seemed to bristle behind her.  He was, probably, beyond unsettled by the sheer amount of ink on the woman's skin.  "I just noticed your place the other day and have been waiting for the chance to come in and check it out.  Name's Jacoba." She offered a hand - as much as a means of getting a closer look at the work on the woman's arm as to provide a polite greeting. 
=

Odille had a hangover pounding at her head like a jackknife and the sounds of chairs squeaking, clients groaning and clenching their teeth while she tried to concentrate on what she was doing had done little to help anything. After narrowly avoiding misspelling the tattoo that a wizard had requested to read ‘Public enemy’ as…well, as something else, Odille had found a pleasant gap in her schedule to kick back with a drink.

The room that Jacoba and Sasha entered was pretty much all there was to the tattoo studio, clinical stark white walls, a glass reception desk in one corner which also acted as a display counter for the array of studs, plugs and barbells that Odille sold, a glass coffee table piled high with flick books filled with tattoo designs and some chairs that looked swiped from the emergency room at St. Mungos. There was a hall, leading to a room where clients could go for their tattoos and if they required a bit more privacy. The smell of smoke intermingled with something as clinical and unnatural as the room.

Removing her thick black boots from on top of the glass counter as she sat at reception, Odille put down her beer and watched the new entrants to her little tattoo parlor. It didn’t take long for it to become obvious that they were not her usual clientele- well, the boy wasn’t and that was an almost instantaneous revelation really.  The girl, Odille wasn’t so sure about, a rarity for someone who was usually so quick to judge as Odille was. If she put any such value on guff like ‘instincts’ and ‘feelings’ she’d say that she drew a blank at Jacoba, But she wasn’t, so she didn’t.

Instead Odille’s hand stayed where it was, clasped around her elbows in the usual stiff shouldered, masculine way she carried herself.  Snapping a now flavorless wet wad of gum around her mouth, Odille trained her heavy lidded eyes on the pair remarking at just how clean they both looked, the boy especially.

Well, clean in relation to Odille of course, in her grubby grey wife beater stained with ink from the tattoo designs she’d been busy tracing, even her skin was irrevocably marked with it’s intricate designs, rose tattoos that followed the seasons- in full bloom during the summer, withered to brown mulch by winter before the cycle began again, sparrows flittered along her clavicle and there was a glimpse of a pirates ship raising it’s mast to catch a high wind from the back of her shoulder blade. 

She had regulars who looked like herself of course, wizards with swirling tribal tattoos that could take hours if not days to complete and witches who wore silver studs in glittering tracks along almost every contour of their faces, there was the odd tourist of course, the odd rebel princess excited for her third ear piercing like Odille was running some kind of Barbie jewelry shop. Blonde eyed, blue haired youths or however the phrase went and their minders were not however her regular clientčle.

“This is a business, Sweetheart,” said Odille, in a bored voice. “It aint a museum.” She smiled though, a lazy, languid sort of thing that revealed one pointed eyetooth almost fang-like in its appearance.

 “For a Galleon I’ll pierce your ears, for two I’ll do your nose and throw in a stud. The cost of anything under the bra or below the waist,” here the smile turned into a smirk, “Is at my discretion.” The sound of Odille smacking her gum around her mouth was now clearly audible and from the way Odille sipped her beer, it was obvious that she was feeling pretty pleased with herself after that little vulgarity.

Sasha hadn't made it much further than the door before the sheer ... contrast of the decor (if you could call it that) and the woman currently inhabiting it had taken him by surprise.  The room, itself, was almost too clean which said a lot coming from him. The room alone wasn't so bad; it was when Sasha caught a glimpse of the pictures in the flip book up front and the ... he supposed it was jewelry ... in the front case that he started to feel like this was some weird episode of the Twilight Zone.  Caught in a bastardized hospital room in a world of magical people.  The smell of smoke in the hospital room was just that extra touch of irony.  Only Stephen King would think something like that up. 

And, then there was the woman.  Sasha knew his etiquette lessons and not staring at people was akin to introductory level lecture material.  No matter what the circumstances.  Neither horrendous attire, conduct that strayed from the range that was considered normal nor physical disfigurement justified staring.  Nor even in those rare cases when one individual embodied all three was it appropriate.  In an effort to avoid staring, Sasha had been trying very hard to look at anything but her. 

"Yes, of course," Sasha heard Jacoba explain.  He glanced, suspiciously in her direction.  She either didn't notice or was ignoring him as she dropped her hand and turned her attention to the collections of pictures.  "He's just along for the ride, though, since I assume there are age restrictions in this world, too?"  He stared at Jacoba, the color rising in his cheeks when he heard the unmistakable request for verification in her voice. 

"It's an irrelevant detail," Sasha finally piped up for both of the women's benefit.  Just so everyone understood.  Sasha felt a rush of annoyance when Jacoba flashed the woman what appeared to be an apologetic grimace. 

“For a Galleon I’ll pierce your ears, for two I’ll do your nose and throw in a stud. The cost of anything under the bra or below the waist, is at my discretion.”

(Mostly) involuntarily, Sasha coughed as warmth flooded his face.  Who really just talked about such things in such normal, off-handed tones?  Especially amongst strangers?  Though, Sasha couldn't think of a social context that would make such discussion appropriate.  It was crass, crude and thoroughly mortifying.  Jacoba's equally casual response of, "Got that satisfactorily taken care of, for the time being.  Unless, of course ... are wizarding piercings any different?"

He hadn't wanted to hear that.  He stared at Jacoba as his blush grew a shade darker.  Then, quickly, he turned and started scanning the room for any real distraction.  There weren't any, of course.  Everything in the room seemed strategically placed to remind him of the debauchery this place was, clearly, all about.  He turned to make for the door when he heard Jacoba's next question.

"Do these work on squibs?"  She was looking at the collection of tattoo pictures.  Her though process was obvious. 

"You can't do this," he hissed in German, hurrying back to Jacoba.  "This is ... this is stupid.  Beyond stupid!  We should go."  He reached for Jacoba's arm just in case she hadn't, yet, gotten his point.