People's Tastes Are Diverse
Swoosh— shh— swish—
Before diving into the full tattoo procedure on Tolstoy Lancaster, I started working on the design template. First, I photographed the winter serpent's face and transferred it to the tablet, outlining just the shape with lines. Then, I linked it to the stencil machine—a transfer device—and printed out variations in different sizes and forms to show him.
"This is called transfer paper. It's like printmaking—you stamp the exact shape onto the skin. What you're seeing is the mirror image; the dye side faces down, so this is how it'll look to others. Pick the size and style you like from these."
"Hm..."
Tolstoy bent at the waist, scrutinizing the transfer sheets I'd printed and handed him, letting out a faint grunt.
"The shape's decent enough, but why just the winter serpent's head? I want the whole body, from head to tail."
"No need to worry about that. For the body, I won't use the machine transfer like this. I'll hand-draw a rough guide for the flow and go from there."
He nodded, as if the explanation clicked.
"Not bad. Then left side of the face: this one in this direction, and that one. Right side: these two. Neck: facing straight forward. And overall, make the faces much bigger than now—at least the size of a real serpent?"
"..."
"What, can't do it?"
"N-no, of course we can."
Tolstoy had this perpetual grin, but the problem was how creepy it got when he smiled. Especially now, asking if it was impossible—his gums fully bared, turning that smile into a straight-up threat.
"You said just the face earlier, but extending to the neck will take a lot more time. Doing it your way, it'll be at least two days—with constant healing magic to prevent inflammation and speed recovery."
"Fine by me. The dungeon can wait."
"..."
Losing today's slot was already a hit, but pushing tomorrow's appointments as a clinic owner? Major burden. I'd planned to kiss up to this bastard as much as possible, but some things had to be said.
"Sorry, but I'm not okay with it. Today was fully booked, but I cleared it for you. If I bump tomorrow too, my patients' trust takes a dive—"
"I'll pay top dollar."
"—but there's always an exception. Let me reprint the heads bigger."
Scaling up on the tablet and printing new transfers lightened my mood instantly.
'Dodged a bullet. No emergencies anyway, and today-tomorrow are mostly basic skin care. Shove 'em to the weekend, focus on the tattoo till then.'
Showing the resized transfers, Tolstoy finally cracked a satisfied grin.
"Yeah, that's it! If you're doing it, might as well go big to look scary. But you're not seriously just doing outlines, right? Add some shading inside?"
"The transfer's just a guide for where I'll ink your face."
He looked delicate, head empty meathead vibes, but damn if he didn't have a sharp eye.
"Shading on the transfer risks smudging when applying to your face, so outlines only. Don't worry."
"I'll trust you."
"...Yes, sir."
Snip— snip—
That short "trust" came out menacing as hell, but I kept a straight face, scissors cutting the five serpent-head transfers.
Basics done. Time for hand-transfer.
"Now attaching the transfers. Stay still, Your Grace."
Shaved stray hairs from the areas, disinfected, spread thin transfer adhesive.
"Don't tilt your head—keep looking straight ahead like normal. Yes, like that."
Tilt during transfer locks in the angle. Especially for rib tattoos—if you hunch for the transfer, the final ink only looks right hunched. Neck wrinkles like this? Extra caution.
"Head transfers done. Mirror check—position, angle, size, any tweaks, Your Grace?"
"Looks good. Just do it."
"No, confirm thoroughly—can't adjust once we start."
"Hmmm..."
Most annoying mid-tattoo? Finishing transfer or ink, then hearing "Huh, smaller than I thought? Angle's off?" Pre-ink checks are fine, but post-ink complaints? Laser removal after healing, or bust.
'If you hate it, wait for skin recovery and zap it.'
Tolstoy eyed the two per cheek and neck serpent transfers.
"All good, but this one—"
"Don't touch! Describe it, Your Grace."
"...Right. Left cheek, bottom serpent—wider mouth? Rest is fine."
"Got it. Hand-transfer fix."
Once the paper dried fully without smudging, I grabbed a skin-safe Sharpie for hand-transfer.
Shh— shh-shh— swish—
Extended the lower-left serpent's maw as requested, then thick-line guides on the scaleless necks. Distinguished upper scale flow from belly, coiling into grotesque, repulsive, utterly alien form—nearly an hour to finalize.
"Phew... Mirror check, Your Grace. Framed it as best I could—any more tweaks?"
Tolstoy checked, then threw his head back laughing.
After an hour's transfer, would this human weapon approve? Tension city.
"Ha, haha! Hahaha! Perfect. Utterly repulsive, terror-inducing faces. This is what I wanted!"
"...Glad to hear it."
People's tastes vary. Revolting to some, but the North Duke loved it—can't argue. Wasn't planning to anyway. Saves more lives this way. Just take the money and boot him.
"Don't touch the transfer. Wait a sec—starting soon."
Snakes are a bitch. Upper scales like chainmail—intricate. Coils need shading for overlap depth.
"Stella, over here. Tattoo prep rundown. These little pots are ink cups—slot into the holder like..."
I mentally sequenced the steps, called Stella, headed to the OR.
8th-floor VR OR had witch training for everything—but tattoos? Nah.
Basics on gear and setup, sent Stella for Tolstoy. All set.
"Your Grace. Sit here— it'll recline like a bed, don't freak."
"This place is full of wonders. Miner, right? Ever thought of the North? Won't disappoint."
"No thanks."
"Haha, didn't expect the instant no. You're intriguing."
'Was settling in peacefully here. If you hadn't shown up, asshole!'
Boiling inside, but I calmed. My turn to make him hurt.
"One thing, Your Grace. Tattoos wound skin, inject dye—painful. Face and neck? Worst spots."
Men feel more face/neck pain than women.
"Who do you think I am? Ruler of the North. Never felt real pain... 'cause I've never been hurt."
Walter's rival? Might shrug off tattoo pain easy.
"Understood. Don't move or make noise—face work, even mouth twitch skews lines."
Vrrrreeee—!
"Machine sounds like this. Need a break or words? Call when it's off."
"Won't need to. Get on with it—waiting's getting old."
"Starting now."
Vrrrreeeeee—!
Foot-switched the power supply—pen-tattoo machine roared.
Dipped cartridge needle in ink cup, tensioned skin taut left-handed, stabbed scales—not head.
Drdrdr— drdr— drdrdr—
North Duke didn't flinch outwardly. But my doc hands felt his tensed muscles twitch.
'Cute, bastard. Not painful, huh?'
Started scales to test—no head details yet. But needle piercing dermis, twitches nonstop.
Offed the foot switch, asked softly.
"Your Grace, was just outlines today, but seems too painful? Can't work if you keep twitching."
"No pain. Just... mystical vibe making muscles react. Haha!"
"I see. Proceeding properly now."
And through every line, tears welled in Tolstoy's eyes.