While he’s working, Ashton happens to take notice of the Wonder Woman ring Tanya’s wearing on her left hand. He mentions it, and they spend the next hour and a half intensely discussing subversive intersectional feminism and barriers to dismantling the patriarchy. It’s an excellent way to spend a large slice of his day.
In the end, Tanya stands at the far end of the library in front of the Remingtons’ double-mirror set-up, eyeing the final result critically. From several feet behind her, Ashton admires his carefully-constructed answer to what was honestly an extremely vague idea. If he’s remembering correctly, Tanya’s request was something along the lines of, “some kind of jungle thing,” and that was it. The lack of elaboration or any sort of specific detail nearly gave him an ulcer as he sketched, erased, and sketched again, but ultimately, Ashton came to adore the design.
Now that it’s on her skin, he just has to hope that Tanya feels the same.
As she holds her wadded-up shirt in front of her chest, Tanya uses one hand to sweep her long, blonde hair forward over her shoulder and out of the way. She makessteelyeye contact with herself in the mirror, blue eyes curious and with no sign of nerves to be seen. Ashton has to admire that—this is not a girl who has confidence or trust issues, that’s for sure.
In the mirror behind her, the leaves begin to rustle, shaking as if wind-blown inside the tear-drop outline that runs from the bottom of her spine all the way up to her neck. The multi-tonal green leaves start out densely-packed at the lower linework and loosen as they twist their way up her spine. When the magic is activated and they sway on her skin, the effect is stunning, shimmering, like patches of light poking through a dense canopy to alight on the foliage below.
In the middle of the rounded bottom of the overall tear-shaped design, a tiger’s face appears in the brush. With narrowed eyes and facial muscles tense, the animal appears ready to pounce. In sync with Tanya’s smile, the tiger pushes its head through the ring of leaves and roars, glinting eyes and sharp teeth making the movement looksorealistic, Ashton almost forgets that this particular tattoo includes a new, proprietary charm he invented himself.
That is, until the entire bunker goes freeze-frame still.
“Holy shit, Ash, you did it!” Tanya exclaims, whirling around to throw an arm around his neck in excitement, and Ashton thinks she probably forgot that she isn’t actually wearing a shirt.
Link appears in his periphery, with Sam just behind him, both of them looking stunned and confused. Link's finger is out, pointing almost accusatorily in Tanya’s direction. “Did—did that thing just roar?! Like, make actualnoise?”
“Oh,” Ashton says, somewhat abashed, snapping the stretchy nitrile of his glove against his skin. “I apologize, Link. I should have discussed trying out a new enchantment with you and Sam before doing so here, at your shop. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”
He waits, expecting to be scolded, but Link just blinks at him blankly, exchanging a disbelieving glance with Sam, who mostly looks incredibly excited. Link exhales loudly before raising his hand and stepping forward to clap Ashton on the shoulder.
“Dude,” he says, clearly still processing his astonishment. “Itbetterhappen again! This is exactly the kind of bangin’ creativity I was hoping you’d bring to Soul Survivor. Never, ever let me catch you apologizing for pulling off something that cool and badass. Man, we are so goddamn lucky to have you here.” He shakes his finger in the air before turning his attention back to Tanya.
“Let’s see it again,” he demands with a grin.
When the excitement over Ashton’s new skillset has reduced to a simmer and Tanya has been wrapped up and sent on her way, they order pizza. When it arrives, the three artists scarf it down while hovering over Link's work table, a late lunch or an early dinner, Ashton isn’t even sure. Thanks to the lack of natural light filtering down into the underground space, it’s nearly impossible to gauge the passing of time.
Surprisingly, Ashton finds himself unbothered by that. He’s content, enjoying his work and the easygoing atmosphere the Soul-arium provides, happy to simply go with the flow and immerse himself in his art. He’s not sure that there’s ever been a time when he’s feltsecureenough to really do that.
The third table in the library, the one farthest back, becomes designated as Ashton’s and he’s quick to make it his own. At Sainted Angels, the work areas were communal and counter space for sketching and drawing was a limited commodity. To be able to stretch out, to keep multiple works-in-progress going at the same time,andhave space left over to meet with clients? It’s heavenly.
The secluded alcoves sectioned off by the bookshelves are perfect as well, in Ashton’s opinion. They provide the right amount of privacy and accessibility, plus if necessary, they can be blocked off easily and completely using a portable curtain. The alcove to the left of Ashton’s table is dubbed his specifically,which is almost overwhelming, especially when Sam tells him to outfit and decorate the space however he likes. In addition to his welcome breakfast, Link's also taken the liberty of sticking three metallic-pink, inflated balloon letters to the wall between bookshelves to christen it.
Naturally, they spell “A-S-H,” and Ashton can’t stop his gaze from being drawn to the shiny mylar all throughout the day. In fact, he finds himself smiling, just thinking about how they got there.
All told, by the time the Soul-arium’s last scheduled client for the day is happily heading out the door, Ashton is feelingexceedinglypleased about his decision to come work at Soul Survivor. His muscles are sore from the long day of work, but in a good, satisfying way. He’s even—mostly—ready to relinquish the idea that the series of unfortunate events from earlier that morning might herald the apocalypse. To accept that they probably aren’t a sign of anything at all, save for the fact that Ashton should never try to run in the rain.
Above them in the atrium, Sam’s parting conversation with her client is muted by the height and distance. Her laugh echoes as the Soul-arium’s heavy door swings closed with a thud. Inside the library, Ashton heads towards the sound, having just finished organizing his paperwork, stowing his gear, and cleaning his spaces.
“Hey,” Link calls out, and when Ashton turns, he sees him emerging from his own alcove, waving a tube of healing cream. Standard cream, not charmed, which is interesting. Although, Linkisfrequently old-fashioned in his methodology, so perhaps it’s not. “Lift your shirt up, sunshine, let me slap some of this on you. Meant to do it this morning, but we got a little sidetracked.”
Now that he’s been reminded, Ashton can agree that the skin on his back does need a modicum of attention. It’sfeeling a bit raw and tight, and he certainly should know better than to let brand-new ink go this long without moisturizing. Considering that, he doesn’t utter a word of protest before shrugging off Link's flannel and tugging the borrowed tee up over his head.
Without looking for Link's reaction, Ashton folds his arms, leaning against the nearest bookcase shelf to wait. He shivers a little, maybe from the draft floating in from outside, or perhaps it has nothing to do with the temperature at all.
Link's hands find his shoulder blades, dry fingertips caressing gently before he starts rubbing the balm in circles over irritated skin. Ashton’s healing charm is definitely doing its part to mitigate the inflammation, but the treatment still feels wonderful. And when Link's fingers dig tentatively into the meat of his muscles, carefully pressing the day’s tension away in long, languid strokes, Ashton can’t help but sigh and lower his head, eyes drifting closed in appreciation.
I could get used to this,he thinks.
“Again?” Sam says loudly as she enters the room, but even with his head down, Ashton can tell that she’s teasing this time. “When you two are done touching each other, let’s have a celebratory, first-day drink. I could use it.”
Link snorts. “This is work-related touching,” he fires back. “Don’t be jealous, just because I’m better and more dedicated to my craft than you are.”
“Okay, Link,” Sam replies easily, as Ashton stifles a smile against the skin of his arms. “We definitely all believe that you’re only rubbing Ash down forwork.You got me. Hey, didn’t you ink Rufus again a couple days ago? That’s our grandpa’s war buddy, Ash, he’s a million years old. Skin like a naked mole rat. So, whaddaya say, Link? You gonna make a house call and oil him up, too?”
Very suddenly, one of Link's hands disappears from Ashton’s back, and behind him, Ashton registers the sound of something being thrown. It’s swiftly followed by a chair scraping against the floor as Sam dodges whatever the projectile was, cackling while running away.
“Yeah, you better run,” Link mutters under his breath. Since his ink is probably sufficiently moisturized, Ashton straightens up and turns around, only to find himself nearly nose-to-nose with Link, who was apparently standingveryclose as he applied the balm.
