The tattoos writhed. I can’t even imagine how much it must have cost to get the whole back done up like that, let alone the legs and arms as well. She was one of the hottest dancers in the club and rumour said that for the right price she’d cook you breakfast. She must have saved every penny to get that kind of work done. The level of detail was amazing.
I could detect the signature attention to details in the shading that only artists like The Frenchman or 3Dave could provide and I’d only seen ‘casts of their work, never up close and real like this.
This was a small town that hadn’t been de-quarantined yet. They wouldn’t come here for any price and there’s no way she could have traveled to outside artists until the ban was lifted. The tattoos looked at least a year old, though, which meant that we had a master in our midst that so far was choosing to remain anonymous.
The tattoos strobed through creatures and colours in time to the music and the backbeat of her heart. They’d flash up in blues and purples, mapping out her internal organs before slashing to a zoom-in of Hercules battling the Hydras across the bladed bones of her hips. Stories unfolded down her legs. Reels of film patterened across her shoulder blades. Home movies from the sixties flashed nostalgia across her buoyant breasts. A burning python lazily wound underneath it all down from the hairline of her neck, around her waist, between her thighs and around one leg to the ankle.
After an hour or so of watching her, you could detect patches that would repeat, see loops start to form, pick up on what images were generated by her consciously and what was being influenced by the music but still, the artistry and complexity involved was breathtaking.
Even quieter rumours stated that she had entire image banks set aside for sexual encounters. Real time mirror effects that would play back moments from seconds before. Old tantric diagrams from civilizations long dead. Porn from ten years and a hundred countries.
Who knows? All I knew was that the six-frame animation of the purple butterfly on my shoulder looked pretty weak in comparison and that that tattoo alone had cost me a month’s pay.
I loved to watch her dance.
I sucked back another beer and watched her love the beat.
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