Tycho : ((as things once were...)) Tycho stands in the middle of the mostly-emptied shop, surveying what is now his. Gone now are the books and stacks of tarot cards, the ritual tools and incense and Wiccan jewelry; most of what's left is random rubbish. Still—he's not one to turn down an opportunity when it arises, and he'd rather be responsible for the space than see it fall into ignorant hands. Slowly, he circles the room with a smoldering bundle of sage, closing his eyes and letting his senses wander into all the corners with the smoke, feeling the contours of the walls and the floorboards. Breathe and be present. The coven would be thrilled to see him doing even this much witchy stuff... The humble consecration complete, Tycho flicks the overhead lights on as twilight seeps in through the smudged windows. "Have to get some better lamps in here," he mutters, imagining where the chairs will go, the little pots of ink, the Saniderm supply. The whole interior could use a coat of paint as well. Until the supplies and furniture arrive, though, the most he can do is to tidy up a bit. Sleep is for tomorrow. He begins to sort things into piles and trash bags, humming with the low-key mania of night.

Maya Smith : There's a light knock on the shop's door, but Maya doesn't wait for it to be answered, just casually walks in, her demeanor inscrutable.

Her initial attention goes to surveying the shop, noting the differences from when she was last inside, and all the work that needs to be done.

After a moment, she gives a shrug, seemingly satisfied -- or at least finished -- with her inspection.

She looks to Tycho, studying him for a moment, before finally asking, "Tycho, right?" A beat, and then, "You're with the tattoos, right?"

Tycho : Tycho looks up from sweeping—didn't he lock that door?—and sees a familiar face. She's from the Center, he thinks, but he doesn't recall being formally introduced. He stares at her impassively as she glances around, but her question gets half a smile out of him, given the elaborate designs visible on his face and neck. "Yeah, so I'm told. You're from next door...?"

Maya Smith : "Maya," she says as she walks a bit closer to Tycho, before confirming with a slight nod, "yeah, I'm with the community center. I guess we're going to be neighbors."

A further look around the space is taken, before Maya reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. There's little expression on her face, as she taps at it, seeming like she might have just decided to ignore Tycho and start texting.

However, after a few moments, her face lightly scrunches, as she turns the phone to hand it over to Tycho. "Any idea which artist this might be?" she asks, before adding, "I know he's local."

On the phone is a close-up of a butterfly tattoo on anonymous flesh. It's no stick-n-poke, but it hardly seems the kind of quality tattoo that someone would care to enquire about and find the artist.

Tycho : Maya doesn't seem like the kind of person into handshakes, so Tycho doesn't go for one. "I guess so. Seems like you have a nice setup over there, I see people stopping in all the time." He pauses while she starts tapping at her phone—and honestly, it's kind of a relief, because small talk is deadly.

When she shows him the butterfly tattoo, Tycho frowns as much at the poor design as its weird familiarity. Who was that dipshit at the convention last year bragging about how all the hotties came to him for ink? "There's this guy down near Pike Place Market whose work this reminds me of. 'Jay' or 'Jake' or something like that. Kind of an asshole who likes calling himself an artist more than actually doing art, but he keeps himself in business somehow..."

Tycho taps the phone to zoom in, but accidentally bumps it over to the next photo on the roll. "Oh, sorry, I—whoa. Uh." It takes a few seconds for the full meaning of the photo to sink in, after which he hands the phone back quickly. "Didn't mean to do that. But, um... what's the story there?" he asks carefully. Some vague tidbit wells up in his memory (girl at the club a few years back—butterfly tattoo—bad situation) but as he's just met Maya, he doesn't want to make assumptions about the story behind the image.

Maya Smith : Reflexively, Maya takes the phone back, grimacing slightly as she sees the photo now on the screen. There's a moment as she holds the phone in both hands, and looks to the misery it depicts, as if she's holding it in her heart.

Breaking out of the spell it has on her, she pockets the phone. Then, she meets Tycho's eyes, and while her face is almost expressionless, her eyes burn with a wrathful sadness. Her mouth opens slightly, as if about to speak, but she doesn't immediately find the words.

"He's marking the girls," she finally tells him, the image singular, but the words clearly plural.

A glance is given back to the door, maybe to make sure there's no one coming in, or maybe with the thoughts of just leaving. When she finally looks back to Tycho, her eyes have cooled.

"I was hoping to find him to say what's up," she offers as a brief explanation. "Do you know him?"

Tycho : Maya's statement echoes in Tycho's ears; they rush with blood. He shakes his head at her follow-up question. "He was at a table near me at a convention, we didn't even really meet. You're sure that he's mixed up in... all that?" Probably a stupid question. "I mean, look, I can't say a hundred percent that it's his, but there aren't many local artists with a business whose linework is that bad, and given the type of person he seemed to be..." Tycho takes a deep breath to control his disgust. "What's your plan to find out for sure?"

Maya Smith : "Convention?" Maya asks with an almost agitated surprise, before she shakes it off, realizing Tycho is talking about a tattoo convention. "Yeah, I'm sure," she says with a nod, "otherwise I'd be trying to find out, instead of just finding him."

"This whole area," she says as she looks around the shop, "along the whole I-5, really, some of the biggest routes and hubs. He's probably not even the only tattoo artist in the area involved with something like this, he's just the one I know about right now."

There's a pause, as Maya looks down at the tattoos on Tycho's neck, as if she's filing away that information. When she returns her gaze to meet Tycho's eyes, she doesn't seem particularly concerned, at least not with him.

"Plan?" Maya asks, as she puts up her hands, as if weighing her options. "I figure I just ask him," she explains, bringing her hands together so her knuckles wrap lightly against her palm, before giving a shrug. Maya doesn't seem too concerned about having a plan, or what she might do, despite the other artist having at a least a foot and a hundred pounds on her.

"What'd you say his name was again?"

Tycho : "It started with J, that's all I remember for sure. His place down on Stewart, I think, near 2nd." He hesitates for a moment, deciding whether he thinks Maya is right in her assessment of this guy, before adding, "I can show you where. Neighbors gotta watch out for neighbors, right?"

Maya Smith : Maya takes this all in, considers it and then gives a small nod to this idea. "Alright," she says, "would probably be helpful. When you see his work, you can be able to confirm if its the same guy, better than I could. I wouldn't want to knock on too many doors." A beat, as she adds, "Tanya says you're good people."

There's a glance back to the door, before returning her eyes to Tycho. "I'm going to take my bike. I only got one helmet, but you can wear it."

Tycho : Tycho nods in response. "I can't think of anyone else in the area with the equipment to do that level of work with that shitty a design, so unless it's someone operating strictly off the grid... He'll probably deny everything. But I should be able to tell." What he doesn't mention is how that facility is improved by what the coven taught him: to open his senses to tell when someone is lying, or panicked, or bracing to attack. But when Maya mentions Tanya, he gives a genuine smile; she was the one who led that lesson. "Yeah? Glad to hear it. She's good people, too."

He goes to fetch something from where his bag is lying in the corner, when Maya mentions her single helmet. "No need. I've got mine," he replies, holding it up in the air. He picks up the leather jacket lying next to it and shrugs it on, pulling a keyring out of the pocket before gesturing to the door. "After you."

Maya Smith : As Tycho mentions having his own bike, Maya returns the smile with a hint of respect and friendly competitiveness. "Having a bike is one thing," she says, as she heads for the door, "but can you keep up?"

Outside, Maya steps towards a blood red Suzuki Hayabusa, a fast bike that Tycho has surely seen parked around the neighborhood before. She zips up her leather jacket, a bulge of something underneath now slightly visible.

Picking up the helmet, she turns to Tycho, with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk, and challenges, "Can you?"

Not waiting for an answer, she dons the helmet, pulls out her keys, and mounts her bike.

Tycho : After locking the door behind him, Tycho turns and sees Maya's bike gleaming in the semi-darkness; he gives a low whistle. "Beautiful." He crosses the street towards a Kawasaki with deep blue trim verging on indigo, and gives a casual shrug. "I guess we'll find out, won't we? See you at 2nd and Stewart in however long it takes." With one fluid motion, he hops on his own bike and starts the engine, tensing up as he feels it purr to life.

Maya Smith : Turning the key, Maya's bike joins in the chorus. She glances towards Tycho, gives him a nod, looking up-and-down the street as she revs the engine.

Through Capitol Hill, down 12th avenue, Maya takes it easy on the bike. Its clear she's keeping one eye on the road, and one eye on Tycho, trying to get an idea of the capabilities of her neighbor. Not yet sure if she has true help, or a liability on her hands.

By the time they turn on Madison, she's clearly decided that Tycho can keep up to some degree. Either that, or she just wants to have some fun, and figures he'll know where to find her.

Its a straight shot towards the piers, and that gives her a chance to really open up the bike. 2.5 seconds, and the bike has already accelerated too 100km/hour, but Maya keeps it moving, cutting expertly through the early evening traffic. She's pushing the limits of sanity -- and certainly legality -- for city riding, though its clear she could take it faster if she really wanted to.

Stop signs seem to mean nothing, and passing under I-5, car horns blare to life as she blows a red light. Past it, she finally begins to slow down a lil. There's only so much road left, and since she doesn't know exactly where she's going, it seems fine time to let Tycho take the lead.

Tycho : Tycho is still getting used to the feeling. Riding has always brought him in tune with himself; now, though, it's like he's in tune with the whole world, feeling every inch of the streets that roll by underneath him, the geometry of the buildings jutting out of the landscape. He accelerates without thinking and rejoices in the sudden torque of the brake and turn. What was once instinctive has become celebratory; he holds himself back from howling into the rushing wind. (After all, this is serious business they're on—but damn if it isn't hard to resist.)

He more or less keeps pace with Maya, making a couple of counterweaves: she speeds right, he takes the left, she cuts off a BMW, he flips off a Mercedes. He gets the feeling that she's holding back a little... and that there's more to what that means than meets the eye. Tanya mentioned there were others of their kind among the regulars at the Center; is Maya who she meant? Hence the name-drop? Tycho knows to be careful about who he reveals his newfound talents to, but if you're about to go mess up a guy with someone, it's a helpful piece of intel...

As they come up on 2nd, he sees Maya slowing and rolls to a stop himself, breathing heavily from exhilaration rather than exertion. He holds onto that vigor suffusing him to the fingertips. "Pretty decent," he says with a grin as she kills the engine next to him. "Next time we'll have to find a trickier path." Taking off his helmet, he nods towards a small storefront up the block with tacky font and terrible lighting. "That's the place. I always knew the guy had money and a hobby and thought that was enough to be an artist... and now I'm wondering where that money came from."

Maya Smith : Parking her bike next to Tycho, Maya takes off her helmet, and unzips her jacket, making the slight bulge in it disappear. "Not bad, " Maya agrees, "we'll find somewhere to really move the rubber, I know a few places. Speaking of which -- "

Maya turns to look at the storefront, and spends her time with it, taking in the details as if it were a piece of art. "Only thing it's missing is the flashing neon sign that says 'Hepatitis," she declares. "I guess it's just the unadvertised special.

Looking down, Maya reaches a hand into her jacket, and despite being low-key about it, she's clearly doing a final examination on a gun."

Satisfied, Maya gives a nod to Tycho, and asks, "Ready?"

Tycho : "Hepatitis if you're lucky." Tycho eyes Maya as she adjusts the gun. "Ready as I'll ever be, but... look, I'm not one to judge someone packing, but I'm hoping that's more for self-defense than, you know. Something that I'll end up being an accessory to." He cracks his knuckles a bit to release the tension from gripping the bike's handlebars. "Not that I don't expect a fight, though. I'll follow your lead."

Maya Smith : "I'm not planning to go in there blasting," Maya assures Tycho, "but as they say, I'd rather have a gun and not need it, than need a gun and not have it."

Maya looks down, and begins to quietly pray, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

Looking back to Tycho, she gives a nod, "Ok, lets do this." With that she begins to walk with quiet confidence towards the door of the tattoo parlor.

Maya Smith : 3, 6, 10, 10, 5: 4

Maya Smith : (Rote: Psalm 23, see Shadow Project from Orphan Survival Guide)

Tycho : ((rolling Perception + Awareness at difficulty 8 to attempt to perceive Maya))

Tycho : 2, 5, 1, 6, 7: -1

Tycho : ((that was Alertness, actually— trying now with Awareness))

Tycho : 2, 10, 1, 2: 0

Tycho : Tycho politely looks away as Maya begins to pray. With everything that he's gone through in the last couple of years—and especially the last couple of months—he's hardly one to say that it's an unusual thing to do. What is unusual is that when she finishes and he turns back, the evening seems to have gotten dark. Shadows cling to her form so thoroughly that Tycho looks up to see if the streetlight went out. But no; it's just her. His eyes can't seem to discern her from the surroundings, and even her presence feels muted, as though she was never there.

Definitely one of his kind, then. Or at least, something more than garden-variety human. It's a vaguely reassuring thought as he follows her in, relying on instinct not to collide with her.

Maya Smith : Calm, but prepared for action, Maya heads towards the tattoo parlor. Taking hold of the door handle, she gives one final look back to Tycho, before entering.

The inside of the tattoo parlor is as scuzzy as the outside, and the whole place as a vague odor of sweat, cigarette and marijuana smoke, and fast food. Various flash art adorns the walls.

A tattoo machine can be heard towards the back, where a heavily tattooed man leans over a young female.

"I'll be with you in a moment," the tattoo artist hollers.

Maya begins to look around at the tattoo art, but its hard for her to tell if this is the same artist, or just some random guy. She gives a look to Tycho, as if to let him know she's waiting for his expertise, but then quickly turns her attention back to the tattoo artist.

Tycho : Tycho glances at a few of the samples. There don't seem to be any butterflies to compare with, but a wilted phoenix on one wall has the same structure to its wings, a scabrous lizard with the same patterns, a bumblebee on its last flight showing the same poor grasp of aerodynamics... He looks towards the collection of shadows vaguely shaped like Maya—is she looking at him—and gives a single, terse nod.

Maya Smith : The confirmation of the tattoo artist leads to a moment where Maya's eyes burn with wrathfulness. As quickly as it came, it is gone, once more replaced by a slightly wold weary blasé tranquility. Instinctively, she begins to reach into her jacket, but then stops herself. For a moment, she balls her fists, letting her nails dig into her palms, but then loosens her grip, letting her arms hang casually to her side.

While she has no interest in getting a tattoo here, she still begins to busy herself looking through the flash art.

From the back, the young girl momentarily cries out in pain, as the tattoo artist's needle plunging in too deep.

Tycho : Tycho bristles at the cry, and when the needle's hum continues without stopping, his own anger begins to boil over, laced with adrenaline. "Hey, man, everything okay back there? If she needs a break, we just need a minute." It's hard to keep the acid out of his voice; he can only imagine the level of self-control Maya is exercising right now.

Maya Smith : "I'll be with you in a moment," the tattoo artist hollers back, his voice agitated, and a slight slurring in his words.

There's a small whimper, as he continues his tattooing.

Maya looks to Tycho, trying to read him and see how ready her new partner is to intervene, and to what extent.

Tycho : Tycho's eyes narrow, and Maya sees his nostrils flare slightly; her skin may prickle at the slight bit of magic he does to smell the liquor on the tattooist even from this distance. "You drunk, man? It's already been a moment." He glances towards Maya's shadow-shape and begins moving slowly into the back area, one hand already balled into a fist, the other open but tense, tingling with energy.