9th Winter, 512AV
Johanne was too thin for this dreadful cold. Even now, a few chimes past the midday bell, when it was the warmest it would be that day, Johanne could feel her bones groaning in protest, begging her to put on more clothes, drink more tea, make more fires, more more more. But Lazuli Ink only had the one fireplace for days like today, and Johanne was already wearing gloves, a scarf, a long sleeve dress, and on top of all that, she was wrapped up in a thick, woollen cloak.
Inecino and Soraya had both left the shop to her for a few bells; they were taking an extended rest for the day, so that Johanne could have the night off. It meant that Johanne could have free-reign of the shop, but a tattoo parlour so out of the way never saw all that much business. It meant a lot of sitting around, and a lot of drinking tea. She could have spent the time writing, or practicing her drawing skills, but she was too cold for that. She simply kept herself warm so that her fingers would be nimble should a customer come in, and she should need to create a piece of art within their skin.
Sitting too long in one attitude froze Johanne's joints in place, however. Reluctantly, her knees protesting, the tall, thin girl stood and paced agitatedly around the waiting room, returning the feeling to her toes. She took stock of the small room, her dark eyes sweeping over the couch, the bookcase, to make sure that everything was in its place. Hurrying over to the opposite wall, Johanne reached out and straightened one of the framed artworks on the wall, an image of a brightly coloured okomo, painted in the colours of a night sky, on a disembodied shoulder. She straightened the image, before looking back to survey her handiwork. She smiled. There: neat and beautiful again. She tucked her hand quickly back inside her cloak, not even the quiet fire roaring in the corner warming her up enough.
She looked wistfully toward the door. If only she had brought her stiletto knife from home, or her papers. Then the long, cold winter's day would not pass so lonesomely.
Johanne was too thin for this dreadful cold. Even now, a few chimes past the midday bell, when it was the warmest it would be that day, Johanne could feel her bones groaning in protest, begging her to put on more clothes, drink more tea, make more fires, more more more. But Lazuli Ink only had the one fireplace for days like today, and Johanne was already wearing gloves, a scarf, a long sleeve dress, and on top of all that, she was wrapped up in a thick, woollen cloak.
Inecino and Soraya had both left the shop to her for a few bells; they were taking an extended rest for the day, so that Johanne could have the night off. It meant that Johanne could have free-reign of the shop, but a tattoo parlour so out of the way never saw all that much business. It meant a lot of sitting around, and a lot of drinking tea. She could have spent the time writing, or practicing her drawing skills, but she was too cold for that. She simply kept herself warm so that her fingers would be nimble should a customer come in, and she should need to create a piece of art within their skin.
Sitting too long in one attitude froze Johanne's joints in place, however. Reluctantly, her knees protesting, the tall, thin girl stood and paced agitatedly around the waiting room, returning the feeling to her toes. She took stock of the small room, her dark eyes sweeping over the couch, the bookcase, to make sure that everything was in its place. Hurrying over to the opposite wall, Johanne reached out and straightened one of the framed artworks on the wall, an image of a brightly coloured okomo, painted in the colours of a night sky, on a disembodied shoulder. She straightened the image, before looking back to survey her handiwork. She smiled. There: neat and beautiful again. She tucked her hand quickly back inside her cloak, not even the quiet fire roaring in the corner warming her up enough.
She looked wistfully toward the door. If only she had brought her stiletto knife from home, or her papers. Then the long, cold winter's day would not pass so lonesomely.
