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Grym nodded, “Ahh that explains it. You’re Greek,” she was surprised she didn’t hear the accent. Zephyr must have been away from home for a while for the accent to fade. Unless they were ex-pats. Either way, answered a lot of questions. “There’s no living up to Greek gods. Sorry pops,” she laughed, thinking about her own parents briefly. Boy, girl, there was no difference to Grym. In her time, she’d seen her share of wimpy men. Daddy would have been disappointed no matter what.

“Sorry about that. I thought it was a tattoo. Maybe dad wanted a cyclops instead,” she said, looking down at the medallion. It was kind of cool. How did she get it to stick so well? Glue? Like those hookers who pasted cheekbones on their skin. Maybe Z was a hooker. Grym wouldn't judge. They were legal. None of her business. Unless she was looking for a job. Grym hadn't considered that kind of service before. She tended to do well-enough on her own. 

“Face tattoo is pretty bad ass. I don’t have the commitment. I like my face. Just got this one redone,” she said, gesturing at her left forearm. With the leather jacket on, she couldn’t exactly pull up the sleeve to show it off.
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Zephyr liked Grym. She was funny. "Family legacy and all that. He didn't want a cyclops -- maybe a great great great someone did though." she laughed. It wasn't far from the truth.

Tattoos were something Zef's favorite things to talk about. "I'm not jonsing to sit through that session myself. But it might be time to add to the story I'm telling myself." Maybe not quite yet -- though the death of her father was something she would likely record -- one day. The dying of the lion. She missed her father. "Any specific reason you got it redone? Horrible job? Or was it one of those impromptu I love you tattoos you can't stand to look at now." Zef joked. It didn't matter, at this point she was just making conversation to keep company of her new friend. Something nagged at her about the woman, but Zef wasn't going to poke at it too much.
“Oh God, don’t make me puke,” she laughed thinking about someone getting hot and bothered by a cyclops.

She had a very simple reason for getting the tattoo recovered, but Zephyr wasn’t the only one to tell plain stories for their absurdity. “You know that terrorist cult that was outed a while ago?” She leaned in, naturally keeping her voice low. They were in Moscow after all, and she was sure that the very air itself was monitored for key words, Atharim being a hot one.

“I had a tattoo of a pet snake I had as a kid. Had to get it recovered. I don’t want to be mistaken for one of those lunatics. I am a good Catholic after all,” she smirked. Grym hadn’t gone to mass in years.

“I know a good parlor if you want a recommendation,” she turned at the next block. The shop was getting close.
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Zephyr smirked. A pet snake. Sure. Now she knew where she'd seen the woman. Why there was this nagging feeling. "To the untrained that would be a good story. To one bearing her own pet snake tattoo not so much. Left forearm, snake, cult the Ascendancy outed. All well and good."

Zef pushed the sleeve of her left arm up and showed the story that started with the four winds at her wrist. Her whole arm was covered in black ink save for the space to tell the story of Atalanta. In the center of her left forerm was same symbol she's worn on her forehead inside of the simple snake eating it's own tell. "The story of my family." she nodded towards the arm. "I'm sure I could use the recommendation of the good parlor. And maybe we can get a drink and talk in private." Most of the Atharim in Moscow were in safe houses, most were not doing their jobs. Zef wondered if this woman was a traitor or just playing safe.
“You’re shittin’ me?” she laughed again and looked her new friend up and down. She didn’t look like a warrior, but that was probably what made her fierce: unexpected.

She had to pause just to look at the piece of work inked up Zephyr’s arm. The artistry was elaborate, but right there in the middle was the snake eating its tail. “Brave girl. Braver than me,” she said by way of admitting to membership in the same said cult.

They should probably stop saying the c-word though. Grym wasn’t keen to end up in jail, or worse these days.  It would be a pain in the ass to break out again.

“Tell you what, if you’re game, I could go for a drink. There’s got to be a great story behind that ink. And I’ll tell you the place I went. No questions asked about pet tat coverups, if you catch my drift. Buy you a drink? Well. After I get this damn car part.”
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At least there was no abhorrent denial. Zef was pretty sure that the announcement didn't include the oroborous tattoo or the location so just knowing that was a dead give away. But then Zef didn't remember much of that day, she'd spent most of it packing up to hunt those that came here. seeking the Ascendancy's protection, and there had already been a few incidents. Some handled by the Atharim already, sadly the government was now employing the very same dangers and that was not good. And now there were rogue elements within the ranks. The inquisitors had their jobs full now. A job she didn't want.

"A drink would be lovely." Zef smiled, she waved her hand to lead the way. "Car parts and then drinks. Know any good places? I have yet to find a suitable drinking hole yet." And finding one was necessary -- a place to relax and recover where someone knew her was a great way to spend down time -- specially when they learned she didn't want to be bothered.
Continued at: Tipsy (Red Light District area)
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