Chapter Text
Eternal-inked
On the cozy morning of her fiftieth birthday, as she enjoys the calmness of the dawn peeking through her bedroom window, Serena Campbell decides this is the day.
The thought never left her. Its something she always puts aside, hidden somewhere in the back of her mind, still peeking here and there on different occasions, triggered by painful memories or melancholic souvenirs.
She will get herself a tattoo. A symbol representing all the path traveled, guiding her through the remaining of her journey. A summary of her life, a mosaic of various traits of her individuality. An intimate reminder of her…
Before deepening her thought on this decision, laundry and tidying are on top of the list today. On her birthdays, Serena always takes the day off, an old habit she intends on keeping even though there is no husband, or partner, to wake her up with a festive kiss. Even Elinor used to concoct a birthday breakfast. Nowadays, birthdays rhyme with quiet time and solitude, even if that means housecleaning. It helps her clear her mind and her surroundings.
Jason being at Alan's, Serena expects a phone call soon. She can already imagine his kind words, cannot help but smile.
In the kitchen, as she pours herself a cup of strong coffee, she thinks about that eccentric tattoo shop she saw, once, during a detour when there was a car pileup on the main highway. Under the sign displaying the shop's name - she regretfully does not remember the name -, it proudly said All Female Tattooists. That is a business Serena would proudly support. It is located in an ordinary neighborhood, on a surprisingly busy street corner. The first floor of the building is shared by two shops: a tea room and a tattoo parlor. She remembers the harmonious facades and eccentric colors. She will call the shop and ask for information.
Serena takes a sip of her coffee and nearly groans of pleasure when the caffeine warms her throat. At that specific time, Jason decides to call. Already prepared, phone in hand, Serena picks up.
"Good morning Jason," her voice is joyful. She feels serene, in slow motion.
"Good morning auntie Serena. Happy birthday," wishes Jason with seriousness. "I hope you will have a pleasant day," he continues.
"Thank you my dear, that is very sweet of you. I intend on making this day very special indeed," she does not say more, taking advantage of this moment to sip at her cup.
"On birthdays, there has to be a cake. Would it be appropriate if I bring a cake with me tomorrow when I'll be back at your place?" he inquires.
"Oh, that would be lovely. I'd really like that, Jason," Serena can picture him smiling.
"Okay. Happy birthday again and see you tomorrow."
"Thank you my dear, see you later," Serena hangs up after Jason.
A pleasant weightlessness settles in the atmosphere and in her heart as she look around.
Before thinking about the future, she needs to freshen the past.
She gulps down the remaining of her coffee. The clock on the walls points to 8am. There is a house to clean and a music to blast loudly through the walls. Full of energy and motivation, Serena sets the cup in the sink and gets to work.
***
Worn out, Serena happily collapses on a living room chair, arms and legs spread out, breathing heavily. Laundry is drying. The first floor is definitely spick-and-span, from dusting to vacuuming, from moping to tidying up. It smells lemony fresh. Contented, she decides the second floor could wait for another birthday. She smirks at her own derision.
Gathering her strength, she uses the palm of her hands on the armrest to lift her back up to her feet. This time, the groan that escape her lips is not one of pleasure, but rather one of old age.
After a refreshing shower, Serena will call the tattoo parlor for information. Excitement and edginess pursue her under the running water.
***
As she dries her cleaned and perfumed body with her towel, Serena wonders about the symbols, the drawings, the themes of her eventual tattoo. Where to start? Should she think first about the location on her body, or should she ponder about the sketch itself?
Practical or lovely? Apparent or hidden? Discreet or eye-catching? Superficial or significant? Color or black & white?
She stares at her naked-self in the wall-length looking glass and is incapable of imagining any ink, shades or shapes.
Like a spiral, her opposing thoughts are competing in her mind, never satisfied with a mutual verdict.
Shuddering and discouraged, Serena starts to get dressed. She definitely needs guiding before actually ponder about silhouettes and setting. Several technical questions hold her back from inspiration. Might as well investigate on the tattoo shop itself before thinking about her own little project.
As she puts on clothes, simple black trousers and her coral blouse, Serena tries to remember the drive that led her to pass by the shop during her detour. She picks up her phone, sits at the edge of her bed and starts her research on Google Map.
Eternal-Inked. Appropriate name, a clear reminder of the upcoming permanency.
As a surgeon, Serena is aware of multiples life-changing situations where permanency happens without preparation. Amputations, rare illness, miscarriage. No turning-back, no time-travel superpowers. At least, a tattoo is a choice, determining a specific moment, expressing a personality-trait, making a slice of life visible. Heck, if it turns out her tattoo is bad, it'll be a funny story to tell at parties.
Serena makes a quick social media research to verify the customer's appreciation. The global rating is higher than average, a few complaints here and there about pricing. Many comments about regular customers complimenting the artist's work and showing off their work-in-progress. Serena is impressed by the various styles and how easily you can recognise an artist's personal touch. She admits it's difficult to choose a drawing style if you haven't got the slightest idea about how your own project is going to go.
It says it opens at noon, giving her just enough time to hurry in the kitchen and pour herself a second cup of coffee before making the phone call.
On her way to the kitchen, she almost hops from excitement. The simple thought of such a bold decision already activates adrenaline in her system. Passing by the living room, she congratulates herself on the housework done this morning. It smells nice and looks so inviting. What a pity, in an empty house, but it does not matter, she owes it to herself.
At noon sharp, Serena makes the phone call, coffee cup in hand.
The receptionist picks up after a few rings.
"Eternal-inked" the voice is monotonous, young and feminine. Serena tries not to be intimidated. Yet, unfamiliar stuttering seizes her.
"Yes, um, I'm wondering if you could help me. I'm, I'm in a bit of a dilemma. You see, I…I might - " The voice on the other side of the device interrupts her.
"Never got tattooed before?" it asks.
Serena didn't expect to be so obvious.
"No, but I'm planning to as I've just turned 50." she quickly adds, afraid of being interrupted again. Somehow, Serena can sense that the receptionist softens her approach.
"That's a wicked idea. Happy birthday!" the young lady enhances.
"Yes, um, I think it might be just what the doctor ordered to celebrate that number." she continues, trying humor to hide her nervousness. It works, because she hears a laugh.
"What kind of project do you have in mind?" the voice still have that laugh melody.
"That's the problem. Someone suggested it a few years ago and the idea couldn't leave me. It may sound typical, I just haven't made up my mind with any project yet," she confesses. Noting there is no reply on the other side, she continues.
"Maybe one your artists can direct me, help me come up with something. I mean, I have-I have ideas, it's just, I'm worried on where to start…Is there a way of speaking with an artist about the tattoo, um, process?" She tries so hard not to sound pathetic, thinks she fails.
After a few seconds, the receptionist responds.
"I'll book a consultation with Bernie." Serena hears keyboard typing.
"You think Bernie is the suitable person to help me out?"
"Definitely. Are you free today despite it being your birthday?"
Serena didn't expect her plans to embody so rapidly.
"I'll try." That's it, she definitely sounds pathetic. Who is alone on their birthdays?
"Great, can you make it in an hour? Its always quieter during opening time and Bernie only have tattoo appointments in late afternoon." The receptionist indicates.
Serena feels stage fright, as if an entire audience will assist to her consultation, scrutinize every inch of her being. She looks as the clock, thinks quickly, has to mentally repeat to herself this is not the official tattooing session, it's only a meeting for discussion.
"Alright, I'll be there." The adrenaline is rushing in, as her consultation gets official.
"Perfect. What's your name?"
"Serena Campbell."
********
Today seems like any other day to discuss tattoos, hence being middle-aged. October's sun warms the sidewalks on this autumn morning. Red-shaded leaves are whirling beside Serena towards the establishment. They are a reminder of the nervous butterflies in her stomach. She arrives in advance, earlier than expected. Professional habit.
As Serena opens the front door, she is greeted by a bell chime and an eclectic view that sets her aback.
The reception area is packed with knick-knack of all sorts. Anything from old furniture such as brown chesterfield couch to kitsch decoration (of course there is a flamingo with sunglasses), 80's glass ashtrays where candies await, and a polished coffin with detailed ornaments that greets you with a Welcome sign. An immense chandelier hangs from the high ceiling and it seems to suffer from post-pollock syndrome. It is joined by a traffic light post fixed upside down. The immense turquoise walls are a living tapestry of portraits, graffiti's and paintings for sale. The ambient smell is intriguing, there is a mixture of sweet vanilla and coconut, with a hint of disinfectant product.
Serena looks around at the front desk but no one is there to greet her. She waits, transferring her weight on one foot at a time, balancing her edginess.
A few clients are already waiting, most of them probably being accompanied by loved ones. It is refreshing to witness variation in the age of the clientele. They are sitting on the Victorian sofas and chatting enthusiastically. A sting in Serena's heart makes her body shiver.
Serena tries not to think about her, doing this together.
She does not know anyone closely enough willing to guide her in this decision. Jason would worryingly ask too many hygiene and technical questions. This loneliness will be at her advantage, she thinks, through the experience of temporary pain and permanent art.
The reception room is separated by a thin wooden paravent, sculped with filigree shapes in its middle, which means the wall is a see-through. The border of the paravent shows meticulously craved roots and thorns. The opening is an elevated swing door. On the other side is the artist's area with tables and counters but Serena is not able to see much from where she is standing.
After a short time, an employee comes out from the back, through the swing door. She is a young woman, with beautiful chestnut hair, holding a bunch of papers in her arms. Although she appears nonchalant, she seems to know and appreciate her tasks.
"Alright people, here is your consent form. Your tattoo artists will be with you shortly," she explains while handing out the forms. Serena observes the small groups reading and adding their signatures. She can feel their excitement, with a dash of uneasiness.
Feeling sidelined, that impression quickly disappears as the receptionist walks up to Serena in order to welcome her.
"You must be Serena. Welcome to Eternal-inked. My name is Charlotte," she says. "Please remove your boots and have a seat," she points to the vacant seats before heading back to her desk.
"Thank you for taking time to squeeze me in your schedule today, Charlotte," Serena adds while taking off her boots.
Charlotte looks up from her counter with a smile. "That reminds me, Happy Birthday!". Following this, many faces turn in her direction with warm wishes. Serena blushes, shyness hitting her, feeling ungainly as she is still taking off her boots, standing on one foot.
"Thank you all, its very kind," she replies while straightening her clothes and hanging her coat on the hanger. "Um, Charlotte, I forgot to ask the price for such a consultation…In haste to get here on time, I forgot to ask."
"Oh, no worries. Consultations are free. You only need to make a deposit if you decide to go through with a tattoo in the near future, resulting from the arrangement made with the artist."
"Oh, thank you." She replies before having a seat, relieved.
Gradually, tattoo artists emerge from the swing doors, walking up directly to their customers with whom they visibly had a consultation beforehand.
All the tattooists are women in their twenties or thirties. To Serena's surprise, not all of them have sleeves or markings on hands and neck. Okay, one woman is quite intense and even have her skull colored with a beautify shaped mandala. The other artists are relatively moderate on the visible parts of their skin. Serena wonders if Bernie is one of them.
The tattooists kindly invite their respective clients -mostly adults, one older teenager escorted by a parent - to follow them in the back, their accompanists follow closely behind.
"Bernie is on her way, Serena." Charlotte specifies.
As Serena is left alone in the reception area with Charlotte, surrounded by all the miscellaneous assortments of diverse cultures and eras, she begins to feel more at ease as she familiarises herself with the place. Slowly, inspiration sparks its flames in her mind, as colors and shapes whirl around her. She is getting used to the particular aroma mixture of coconut and sanitizer.
Lost in her thoughts, digging in the back of her mind, imploring ancient memories to climb up to the surface, Serena does not acknowledge the swing doors opening and closing, nor the woman standing, waiting for Serena to notice her.
A polite cough to gain her attention is sufficient to bring Serena back to the present. Seeing the stranger for the first time, Serena mumbles an apology and stands up to make eye contact with the person.
"Hello Serena, I'm Bernie."
She introduces herself while looking directly into Serena's warm eyes. The voice is throaty, filled with interest. They shake hands. Bernie's palms and fingers are surprisingly soft and Serena restrains herself from saying so.
Bernie embodies the exact opposite of what Serena projected as her consultant. In front of her stands a mature woman with light skin, a few moles and no makeup. Her face sublimely offers sharp edges, such as an aquiline nose, large cheeks and thin lips. Something in her large eyes reveals gentleness and wisdom. Bernie does not seem to know the existence of a hair brush, as blonde peaks contours her jaw and bangs tickles her eyelids.
Her clothes are relatively simple, black skinny jeans and a large white shirt. All of her visible tattoos are black and white. Her right arm and forearm appear to undertone a story. Something with dark spirals, a pocket watch with roman numbers, maybe a crown. A portrait of what appears to be a wolf. Her left side shows a wild forest. Serena is convinced of seeing a tranquil river between a spinet and a birch, in front of mountains. At this distance, she can only glance, as she awkwardly needs to gather her courage to make acquaintance with a woman of her own age.
"Nice to meet you Bernie. Thank you for seeing me today." Serena manages to say without stuttering. She does not know what to do with her arms. She remembers vaguely the softness of Bernie's hands.
"It's my pleasure," there is a pause where none of them move, before Bernie comes to the rescue. "Shall we go in the back? We can discuss more in private." She points to the paravents and Serena is having a hard time concentrating. She is captivated by Bernie's arms and impressed by the quantity of art she exposes.
"Lead the way." She settles, following the heavily tattooed and gentle figure that is Bernie.
Serena's heartbeat accelerates once she passes through the swing doors. She has to remind herself that she is only here to obtain information and discuss about ideas. Hopefully Bernie will not pressure her.
Bernie's figure is so slender, it captivates Serena's attention. She seems so at ease with her body, as if nothing matters, completely comfortable in her environment. It takes a lot of Serena's will power to stop from staring at her sleeve tattoos while she follows her further inside the shop. They give her the impression of suddenly coming to life, interrelated with Bernie's movements.
The main room is an open space partitioned in various individual working stations. Seeing all the occupied ones, Serena guesses Bernie's station is the remaining one, positioned completely at the back of the room. Serena supposes it must be the most advantageous setting, since there are fewer comings and goings. As they walk by the other artist's station, Serena can not stop herself from peeking discreetly. She is hypnotized by the constant noise of the machines. It’s a sound difficult to describe, similar to a humming vibration, distinct but also very thick. Once its started, it blends in the ambiance, an omnipresence. Some customers are still at the preparation stage and Serena can definitely sense their adrenaline, comparable to the one felt from her patients when she prepares them for surgeries. Quickly, she feels silly walking around in short steps wearing only her boring grey socks in front of all the courage and expression surrounding her, like a clumsy pedestrian in stream of traffic.
Bernie's workplace is immaculate. Fixed on the wall, wooden shelves store perfectly settled bottles of ink, sorted by color gradient. Over the shelves hangs a beautiful drawing of the cartoon version of Wonder Woman that overlay almost the entire portion of her wall. Under the shelves is her counter, where she stocks equipment and machines, some even have long pipes and cables. For some reason, despite Serena being a surgeon, the outcome makes her gulp from worry.
Bernie's chair is a stool on wheels. And of course, there is the massage table in the center of her station, not too far of reach from her counter. It looks very solid, a high weight capacity of supporting all kind of clients. The dark blue cover imitates leather. If Serena lies down on it, her body would be positioned at the height of Bernie's hips. Beside Bernie's stool is a folding hair obviously added there for the sake of their consultation. Bernie gently invites Serena to have a seat beside her. Serena notes Bernie's long thighs, how her knees point forward when she sits down. In this position, Serena is slightly taller.
"It seems you have lovely ideas for your birthday present." Bernie encourages Serena to speak at her own rhythm, genuinely interested.
Serena lets out a breath she did not know she was holding back. "Indeed, for, um, my 50th. Today," she fidgets, wanting to say everything at once.
"Happy Birthday," her voice is sincere, "I'm glad you included us in your celebration. How can I help you?" Bernie's eyes are kindly inquisitorial.
Unsettled at the reversed roles, Serena is usually the one asking questions, being the one in charge as a consultant surgeon. She is not used to be submitted to another person's list of interrogations and it feels peculiar.
"I need guiding, you see. I have a few ideas but I don’t know how to shape them. I mean, where do I even bloody start?" she tries to add motivation and a little bit of mocked defeat in her voice. Bernie maintains her interest, continues to display her warm smile.
"First, I wish to clarify something. Don't feel obligated to make an actual appointment," Bernie sets her elbows on her knees and focuses on Serena, who still does not look a hundred percent stress-free. "I know you are here for information only, for the time being."
"That is very nice of you."
"Why don't we start from the beginning? Do you already have tattoos?" Serena notices how Bernie tends to lift up her hands to accentuate her words.
"I don't." If the previous years hadn't been so catastrophic, Serena might have had the pleasure - and courage - of getting tattoos earlier. If only…
"No worries. Do you have a general project in mind?" Bernie subtly shakes her forelock away to avoid it from falling on her eyelids. The movement makes her shirt shift just a tad, just enough to reveal her clavicles and more ink on Bernie's skin. It looks like she has a massive piece on her chest, hidden by her clothes, and it immensely distracts Serena. She feels the foundation of a stammering forming in her throat.
"I'm not sure. I mean, I mean, I do have ideas here and there…" Serena's shoulders fall as she lacks in energy. She begins to think this is all a rather large mistake. Bernie does not seem impatient, nevertheless Serena becomes annoyed at her own self. She hates being in situations where she does not master all the finest details. Clearly, Bernie senses something and her eyebrows frowns at the questionable shift in the air. Serena sighs loudly, gathers her courage.
To make it easier for both of them, the surgeon opts for candidness and emerges from behind her façade and tries to push away all of this introduction protocol.
"I've never thought of tattoos before, before, um, someone suggested it a few years ago. And honestly, I'm terrified. But I wish to go through with it. I really do. Would you mind terribly guiding me with the procedures, explaining the steps?"
"I'd be glad to, Serena. Nothing to worry about. That's what I'm here for." Bernie crosses her legs in order to be more comfortable. She even slightly bends forward on her stool chair, to get closer to Serena. Doing so, Bernie's skin is now aligned under a ray of light. It makes Serena shudder.
"Look at you." Serena's tone of her voice increases to a level of pure amazement. "You are superb. And quite intimidating, too. I reckon it must have taken years to get all of this done," she points to Bernie's sleeve and even manages to faintly point at her clavicle, "not to mention all the pain," her face grimaces as she pronounces that word and she adds her palm on her own chest as a recomfort, not daring to actually imagine all the pain.
Bernie is relieved that Serena feels more relaxed, even if it means avoiding speaking about herself.
"Indeed. For years, my body was a continuous work in progress."
"Striking, look at how harmonious it all is. You are beautiful."
"Thank you." Bernie looks proud.
Serena bends down towards Bernie's figure, forgetting about manners you need to maintain in front of a stranger. She stares at Bernie's forearm, even tries to focus her eyes, and, by habit, Bernie raises her arm to offer Serena a closer view. There is indeed a wolf and a crown, backgrounded with black spirals and loops, ornamented with a beautiful antique pocket watch. From this position, she is not able to see the other arm adequately and does not request. She unquestionably does not ask to see Bernie's clavicle tattoos.
"This is marvellous. How did you make it work? How were you able to put all these pieces together?" Serena's hands could speak for themselves, as she uses crooked fingers to picture her question and create imaginary piece of puzzles.
"It did take a while. The thinking as well as the inking. I started young…" Somehow, Serena recognized that Bernie hadn't meant to say this. "I mean, a vast project needs, uh, time and space, its, its better to start soon, with the healing in between to consider." She adds to correct herself while running her hand through her wild hair.
"Would you mind talking about it? I'd feel more comfortable if you shared your own experience."
Bernie does consider the suggestion, but she chooses to explain why doing so would be fruitless.
"Everyone has a different journey. Its incomparable. Motivation and inspiration are so personal. We are not at the same stage in our lives…" she is cut-off by an apologetic voice.
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, I don't mean to be a bother. You are right. Aren't you bored with your receptionist handing over seniors having a mid life crisis?" behind that question lies her insecurities, but her wittiness does not disappear.
The throaty voice suddenly transforms into a beautiful and startling honk of laughter.
"Why would I be? A project is a project," she replies, laughing with her bouncing shoulders. "Besides, older clients have more ideas to discuss, more memories. I'm the eldest here, I'm guessing it helps to put adults at ease." She coughs a little to get back to her normal voice. Her eyes are teary from laughing. It enders Serena.
"In addition, we have a limited consultation time, we should get back to your questions."
"Right. Honestly, I feel less pressure if we focus more on the technicalities and your techniques rather than talking about me. I mean, all these spotlights are already setting up the interrogation session." she points to the neon's and lightbulbs. To Serena's liking, the lighting is intensively bright and it does remind her of the blinding lights in surgery rooms. She is not sure if she likes that association. Under these bulbs, nothing can be hidden, whenever its stretch marks, body hair, cellulite, varicose veins, freckles…
"What would you like to know about me that would make you more comfortable?" Bernie looks directly into Serena's eyes and they stare at each other, contemplative.
"So many things. I'm interested in your journey in this non-traditional field. How long have you been in the profession? But you just informed me that we don't have time for these questions, which is really unfortunate…" Serena looks fairly disappointed but still jubilant to the idea of learning about Bernie's feminist progression in the tattooing business.
"We could discuss in the details the misogynistic mentality, the lack of formal training and regulations in the profession for hours, but I can assure you that I've been tattooing for ages and for more than five years here, in the certified Eternal-Inked shop." Bernie enhances.
Serena continues to stare with curiosity, hoping Bernie would carry on. It is fascinating to simply look at Bernie. She is truly stunning. Serena is grateful to witness such a specimen who might actually tattoo on her someday if only she could control her jitters. Serena feels herself dissociating, casually admiring Bernie as a rare masterpiece. Bernie blushes under these admiring eyes.
"If we are here today, its because of your birthday. Let's get back to that." Bernie tries to stay coherent and lead Serena into the purpose of their meeting. "There are many ways to start. Some people prefer to think about location and pain before the actual drawing. For example, shoulder blades are popular for firsts tattoos because it tends to hurt less and the position is relatively comfortable during the session. When your emplacement is selected, you can decide on the art. Its size, its color, its shading. On the other hand, some people come in with an art in mind and are looking for the appropriate body part to transfer it without customize."
"I'd be the customer who would think about the art beforehand. Afterwards, the body part."
"No problem. You said you had ideas?"
A dark shadow hovers through Serena's eyes, awaken by Bernie's reference to her project. Serena needs to speak about herself if she wants Bernie's guidance.
"I'm looking for a piece that reflects who I am, and where I'm going…" she gesticulates in order to accentuate her words, "but I can't put that down in drawings without your help."
"Let's brainstorm. What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a consultant general surgeon here at Holby." Finally, Serena gradually regathers her assurance as her professional field is mentioned.
Bernie lifts up her head, as if to pay her tribute. "Impressive," she even nods, "What else, Doctor?"
"It pretty much takes a lot of my time."
"Are you in a significant relationship?" Serena eyebrows lift up, her lips pursed. Bernie's seriousness turns into a playful smile. "I'm only asking for the purpose of brainstorm."
"I'm not intending on tattooing any former, present or future partner on my body, if this is where you are heading. Isn't that against the code of tattooist to do so?"
Bernie lifts up a hand in defeat and moves on to the next question with her usual gentle smile.
"What are your habits when you are not too preoccupied by the Hospital?"
"Let's see. Shiraz. Oh, nothing takes the edge off like a glass of red wine," She even hums to show her own approval. Bernie carefully notices each of Serena's facial expressions. "Well, nothing besides coffee, that is…"
"Amen to that…" Bernie sets her elbows back on her knees, paying attention to Serena's regain of confidence.
"I enjoy spending my free time relaxing. A throw blanket with a good book. A nice meal with friends. Is…is this helping us elaborating a drawing?" Serena almost lowers her voice, suddenly insecure and unsure.
"It will."
Bernie's eyes are dark and profound, her face peaceful. Serena supposes she is already actively picturing diverse sketches. Oh, artists and stimulus. Although she feels comfortable around Bernie, Serena isn't ready yet to open up more about her story. She willingly gave away information about the surface, plenty of material to work with.
Understanding that the surgeon won't elaborate more, Bernie progresses.
"We could mix a little bit of the different parts of your life? Professional and personal, since you want a drawing that represents you."
"Good, good. But-but I want discretion. I don't want something that says 'hello I'm a doctor and I like wine'. How would that look in the operating room?" She giggles, pictures the wine glass drawn on her wrist.
"You'd have sceptical eyes looking in your direction." The thought immensely amuses Bernie.
"Or I'd see patients flee." Serena adds brightly.
"Indeed, they might. Usually, I tend not judge a book by its cover, but in your case…" Bernie mockingly crosses her arms and sneers.
In return, without thinking ahead, Serena playfully slaps Bernie's knees to defend herself. They savor this moment, both understanding that Serena feels more at ease.
"Um, what are your opinion about colors? I notice your arms are black and white…" Serena sets her eyes on Bernie's skin again.
"Well, it depends on the drawing and what you wish to represent. Never an obligation. It does tend to fade out but touch-ups are a possibility. There is no major difference in the process, other than having more instruments around for the colors. Colored tattoos tend to require more time to settle, I've heard customers complaining about experiencing more pain during the healing period. More ink, metal salts, minerals to manage..."
Serena nods. She dares to ask if Bernie has color tattoos.
"Me? Oh, no. My life is black and white, only." Again, Bernie runs her hand through her hair, as if the gesture would push away thoughts. Why does Serena senses something problematic behind that statement?
"Well, I'm hoping you mean in an aesthetic way…"