perverseimps - Tumblr blog

[perverseimps]

For the briefest of moments, Vincent's eyes crinkled in amusement as he chuckled lightly, scratching at his jaw absently. Discomfort was common among their customers--even the people who came prepared were often nervous (and rightly so), and everyone had unique ways of demonstrating that. Vince preferred humor to the kind who were quietly timid--the latter required a kind of finesse that could be difficult to muster for strangers, while the former seemed to be a much easier pattern to fall into, thanks to years of practicing with Pluto.

"Well, if you really want, I could sell you the carton we have in the fridge, but it's been there a while. Might be closer to sour cream, at this point," he answered, effectively dismissing the young man's apology in a tone calm and steady, with only a light hint of impishness--because, while he could match wits easily enough, he was also there to provide stability through the process--he needed people to have faith in his hands, and that started with faith in his character. Others--like his fellow artist--could rely on a warm and vivacious manner to win over their customers, but Vincent had not that skill. He could, though, be steady, and hope that was enough.

He watched the paper fall from the young man's pocket, frowning lightly in contemplation as he spoke. His mind flipped through a mental folio of his work, hoping he wouldn't have to get his physical portfolio, and that he wasn't trying to recall something Pluto had done--ah, no, there it was. "I remember," Vince said with a wry smile, "It's been a couple years, but...well, it's a small town. Don't always remember names, but ink is another story altogether. It's good to know the work is holding up." It was also very encouraging that they came recommended--granted, they were the only tattoo parlor in town, but no ink was better than bad ink, by nearly anyone's standards.

Ah, so the paper was important, after all. Vince's smile didn't fade, even as he nodded, switching easily from friendly to professional--because now was the time for the sales pitch. "All of our work is custom and we're more than happy to work with you to draft and fine-tune any ideas until they're exactly what you want. What is it you had in mind?" he asked, eyebrows raised in interest. He made no gesture toward his potential customer, no reaching for the page or beckoning him over, but his fingers were twirling his pencil and tapping it against his sketchbook in an eager anticipation.

Wear Your Heart On Your Skin || Vince & Artur

“I’m hoping you could sell me a carton of milk, actually,” Artur deadpanned, and the line was out of his mouth before he could think to hold it back, could think that maybe flapping his jaw at the man he wanted messing around on his back with needles and ink wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. Didn’t even rank in the top ten. There was almost something nervous in the long, flat stare that followed the sentence, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just said, was trying to process the idiotic words that spilled so easily off his tongue, was really hoping that he wasn’t going to be pointed towards the door for obnoxious flippancy.

One hand slid out of his pocket to scratch briefly at the back of his head, more a tic than anything else. “Sorry,” was the apology that followed close on the motion’s heels, “bad habit and all. I’ve never really been able to break myself of it.” Not that he’d ever wanted to, though, or ever really given it a try; he mostly just assumed that any and every attempt would fail, and rather spectacularly. He tended to know himself well enough to believe that he was right, but training had the potential to be just as effective for people as it could be for dogs, if worked right.

Right. He’d come here for a reason, not just to word-vomit and hope that earned him some small modicum of pity. “Friend of mine’s been talking for a while now. He said- I mean, he came here and…” The sentence trailed off and the mechanic hauled his other hand out of his pocket, folded draft paper coming with it and settling silently to the floor as he gestured to his arms. “I’d call ‘em tribal, but that’s as likely to piss someone off as not. I dunno if you remember him? Big guy, biceps the size of my head, works down at the Marine Garage?”

Having worked on his arms, the description was as close as he was going to get to something recognizable. Artur shrugged again. “Anyway, he said you were the guys to talk to about-“ A patdown of his pockets made the fallen page plain, and he knelt to retrieve it with a faint flush spreading across his face. “-about it. About the same. I mean, not the same, but…” He tapped the paper with a finger, swallowing and trying to order his words into something that would make more sense than brainless babbling. “About making these permanent.”

[perverseimps]

((Oh yes, we still exist. Don't you lot dare think you'll escape the Poe anytime soon.

Due to the mun's severe case of "the busies", we're running on a strictly-plotted-threads basis. That being said, if you'd LIKE to plot something, feel free to drop us a message!

Please, come plot with us. Please. Pluto is restless and he's terrifying me. o___o))

[perverseimps]

Vincent didn't often sit in downstairs in the shop during day-lit hours. It was typically Pluto's responsibility--he was decidedly the more social of the two of them, and by mid-afternoon, he would have been through all his daily rituals and curled up contently in the chair behind the counter, downing several mugs of coffee and painting watercolor figures that Vincent usually did his best not to pay much attention to--not because his friend didn't have talent, but because Pluto painted almost exclusively from life, and he had no desire to have those images pop up while he was trying to have civil conversations with the people around town.

But Pluto wasn't there, at the moment. As soon as he had seen that Vince was awake, he'd flitted to the hardware store to get another can of the interior paint they used on his room, swearing that it had managed to fade in the six months since he'd last touched it up (then again, color was his specialty, so perhaps he did see something Vincent couldn't). So Vince was the one now perched in the parlor, behind the counter, sketching idly, and waiting for the after-ten crowd to start trickling in.

Unlike Pluto, Vincent didn't draw from life--his pieces came often from his dreams, or rather, his nightmares, which were a far more regular occurrence. His current sketch was something out of a horror story he might have read at some point, with a vicious creature bleeding from the shadow of a hunched figure walking down an alley. The beast's claws stretched over the brick wall, curving over the person's caved shoulders, and there was a kind of symbolism in it that suddenly rendered its artist utterly still, hand wavering over the paper so uncertainly the pencil trembled--until the voice from the door tore his attention away from it quickly.

He had expected to find Pluto--even though he knew full damn well the voice hadn't been his partner's--only because it was too early in the evening for most people to show their face in the tattoo parlor. It was nowhere near late enough for anyone to be stumbling drunkenly through the door, which left two options. He was a serious customer who had given real consideration to this, or he was lost and looking for directions--and who in hell could possibly get lost in Storybrooke? "Welcome to Perverse Imps," Vince said calmly, closing his sketchbook carefully, but firmly, and offering a placid smile. "What can I do for you tonight?"

Wear Your Heart On Your Skin || Vince & Artur

He didn’t know where the idea had come from, and that was the truth. One day he’d been taking note of lines painted under another mechanic’s skin, stark and dark against pale arms usually covered by sleeves, and the next, he hadn’t been able to get them out of his head. Not the same lines, the patterns and designs; no, those were the other man’s, held meaning and song for him, and weren’t to be copied, stolen, cheapened. Not just the ink, though considering what he might do with it was certainly a fascination that occupied minutes of mindless work, casting about for something that did more than just content him momentarily.

Wings didn’t feel like something he could claim. A mechanic, all metals and weight; what made him think that he could lift himself out of the routine into which he’d fallen? The idea still called to him, even so. Nothing cartoonish, nothing small and silly. Bird’s wings, no banding on the feathers, stretched from shoulderblades to elbows as though they came from his back, following the contours of his body and fitting snugly over his muscles. Large enough to will free of his flesh for flying, though he didn’t bank on the possibility of that.

And it had been just that - just an idea, nothing he fully planned on following though with, but it had been tossed about over body work on the antique in the garage, sketched messily on the back of an unfiled bill one day over lunch, then again and again on a piece of paper towel as they got it closer to what was in his head. The final sketch was traced out on draft paper usually reserved for diagramming paint jobs for cars that would never be fulfilled (too flashy, too big for a town like Storybrooke) by the mechanic who diagrammed those jobs. Something more to do than discuss improvements to the ongoing mass project, if nothing else.

Which was, more or less, how Anders had found himself outside an establishment he’d probably walked past half the nights he was in town without ever really taking note of it. Odd how that could happen. For all his usual bluster and bravado, there was a hesitance in the way he reached for the door, paused, shook his head at himself, and pushed it open. After that effort, stepping through was easy. “‘llo?” Bony fingers tapped a rapid tattoo against the folded paper in his pocket, betraying him.

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"I'll hold you to that," Vince said honestly. With a faint shrug, he added, "It takes a longer time to get a hold on some things than others. Pluto's still not great with typography, and he's been working on it for a hundred years."

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, relaxing slightly. One hand slid easily into his pocket as the other gestured lazily toward the kitchen. "I've got coffee perpetually brewing, but I can probably dig up some tea, if you'd prefer? I think Pluto keeps some around." Granted, Pluto had kept it around to satisfy someone who had set foot in the shop once, and never the apartment, but that wasn't the important thing. "I'd offer you food, but my half of the kitchen is almost entirely ramen. Put off shopping way too long."

A soft smile formed on his face at her words. He and Pluto were decidedly men set apart, but that wasn't a designation that often came with positive connotations. "Thank you." He wished he could return the compliment, but it felt immense and meaningful, so he simply accepted it as graciously as he could.

"I need a hug." Lei said softly to Vincent. She'd had a rough day, and he was the first person she had thought to come to see.

Surprise flitted across Vincent’s features for a moment. “Oh,” he said softly before pulling the brunette into his arms. She fit comfortably, and he set a hand on her hair softly. “What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

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Pluto listened with gleamings eyes--because matching tattoos were the absolute greatest things in the universe, in his slightly-less-than-humble. They really made any other form of commitment seem meager and nearly pitiful by comparison. "I'm Pluto, and my compadre--" he gestured around the empty room grandly, only to wonder silently where his aforementioned compadre had gone, "--wherever...he....has skulked away to, is Vince! If the design you finally settle on is black-and-white, he'll be the guy you get. He's great, just...secretive, apparently."

The box of supplies that slammed onto the counter behind him alerted him to his friend's presence. "Someone has to sign for the stuff when it gets here, genius," Vincent added, nodding politely to his customers. "Welcome."

Offering only a dismissive wave in Vince's direction, Pluto prattled on. "Anyway, that's actually a great starting point," he assured the woman--Rowan, he corrected himself--eagerly. "A basic idea lets us draft a lot of different things that might be what you're looking for. So let's talk location. Where were you thinking it would go?"

The Sun and the Moon | Tristan, Rowan and Pluto

Tristan and Rowan smiled at the man.  ”We were looking about getting matching tattoos.  For the longest time, we’ve sort of had this saying between us, and a thing with moon and sun.”  Rowan answered with a smile.  ”We aren’t sure if we want the same design or two that go together.  Definite sun and moon for sure.”  The blonde woman laughed, “I’m probably explaining this for shit, I’m sorry.  I’ve never done this before.  He has.”

The man laughed, “Only a few times, Roe.”  Tristan wrapped his arm around her waist.  ”I’m Tristan.”

"Oh yeah…I’m Rowan."  She said with a laugh.  "Think you can help us?"

[perverseimps]

Invade my privacy. Do it.

Purple: 10 facts about my room

Blue: 9 facts about my family

Green: 8 facts about appearance

Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood

Orange: 6 facts about my home town

Red: 5 facts about my best friend

Pink: 4 facts about my parents

White: 3 facts about my personality

Grey: 2 facts about my favorite things

Black: 1 fact about the person I like

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"Perhaps," Pluto conceded easily, circling her with cautious grace. "Though one might argue that, as the only solid being amid the shadows, perhaps you are the imaginary one." Her recommended list of synonyms dragged a light chuckle from him. "'Instigator' is good, I like that." It was a title he'd shared before.

Her question, though, was a bit more difficult to address with flippant ease. Instinctively, his hand flew up to cover the empty socket, and his brow furrowed with remembrance as his frame shuddered from the pain of the memory. Shaking his head clear of the foggy remnants of the past, he offered her a smile--this one far less bright. "Let's...just say people of flesh can be cruel, my dear. Crueler than people of the shadows have ever been." It was no small coincidence that he had stayed the hell away from her world for quite some time.

Meanderings || Pluto and Dorothy

"Well, I think it’s a pretty good term, if nothing here is real. Besides the ground and me, that is. And troublemaker seems like a kinda immature word. Instigator, incendiary, sure." Dorothy grinned a bit, as the gesture was picked up with ease. "Uh, speaking of trouble," she started uneasily, her smile disappearing. "Might I ask what happened to your eye? I mean, last time we met, you, ah, kinda had both. Don’t have to tell me though - just curious."

[perverseimps]

Send me a sentence for my muse's reaction

"Are you crazy?”

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Are you sure they won’t find out?”

"Are you sure this is legal?”

"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

"Are you threatening me?"

"Be mine."

"Can you be anymore obvious?"

"Do I know you?"

"Do you love me?"

"Do you remember this?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Don’t go."

"Don’t let me die"

"Don’t look at me like that."

"Don’t make me beg.”

"Don’t you dare come near me!"

"Don’t you dare."

"Explain yourself."

"For you, I would _____"

"Give it back."

"Give me another chance."

"Have you ever even done this before?"

"How drunk are you right now?"

"I already regret this."

"I am not wearing that.”

"I can’t believe you missed that."

"I can’t do this anymore."

"I can’t even look at you."

"I could kill you!"

"I dare you." or "I dare you to _____."

"I didn’t do it.""

"I didn’t know you could do that."

"I don’t want to look at you right now.”

"I guess this is goodbye.”

"I hate you."

"I have to go."

"I just want to cuddle."

"I know your secret.”

"I love you, but I really wish I didn’t.”

"I love you."

"I miss you so very much."

"I missed you."

"I need a drink."

"I need a hug."

"I never really loved you."

"I owe you."

"I think I broke it."

"I think I’m falling in love with you. "

"I think I’m forgetting something."

"I think it’s broken.”

"I trust you."

"I want to be yours."

"I want to try this thing I read in a book.”

"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."

"I’ll be there in five minutes.”

”This is really inappropriate.”

"I’m all for spicing thing’s up, but isn’t this a bit much?”

"I’m bad for you.”

"I’m dying."

"I’m going to be sick."

"I’m not speaking to you anymore."

"I’m pregnant and it’s yours."

"I’ve never heard that one before."

"If you stay quiet, no one will know.”

"Is that my shirt?"

"It was me"

"It’s so beautiful.”

"It’s time to choose.”

"Just five more minutes."

"Just go."

"Just leave me alone."

"Just let me die."

"Just relax."

"Just what did we do last night?"

"Kiss me you idiot."

"Kiss me."

"Like you even care."

"Little too late, don't you think?"

"Make me."

"Marry me?"

"My Parents don’t know"

"My parents know.""

"Never again."

"Nh, don’t be so rough!"

"No, that can’t be my baby."

"No! You can’t die on me now!"

"Obviously there is something between us."

"Of all the things i've heard, that hurt the most."

"Put it away.”

"Put your trousers on!"

"Put. The. Weapon. Down."

"Quiet, I am trying to think."

"Relax, I have a plan."

"Really?"

"Shut up and listen."

"Take responsibility."

"That isn’t mine."

"That looked easier on TV."

"That sounds painful."

"That was a bad plan."

"That’s mine!”

"That’s the cheesiest pickup line I’ve ever heard."

"They’re coming.”

"This seems familiar."

"This stays between us."

"Truth hurts, don’t it?"

"Unbelievable. I can't believe you right now."

"Very good, you had me fooled."

"Want to hear a secret?"

"We need to talk."

"We’re moving too fast.”

"Well that was unexpected."

"What are we doing here?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"What are you touching?"

"What are you?"

"What do you need?"

"What happened to you?"

"What have I done this time?"

"What if someone catches us?”

"What sort of noise was that?”

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

"What were you thinking?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"Where did you find this?"

"Where do you even find this sort of thing?”

"Where were you?"

"Who’d have guessed you could pull such a face?”

"Why are you wearing that?"

"Why yes, I am as think as you drunk I am."

"You could have died!”

"You could have killed someone!"

"You coward."

"You don’t need to be so gentle.”

"You drive me crazy!"

"You have ten minutes, so make it quick.”

"You lied to me!"

"You mean everything to me."

"You owe me."

"You. Come. Snuggle. NOW!"

"You’re all out of ____."

"You’re an idiot.”

"You’re bad for me.”

"You’re dead to me."

"You’re pregnant and It’s mine"

"You’re really good at this…”

"You’re so weird.""

"You’re under arrest."

[perverseimps]

Put one of these in my askbox to see how my Muse reacts.

"Do you trust me?"

"That sounds painful."

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

"I’m not speaking to you anymore." 

"I can’t believe you missed that."

"That was a bad plan." 

"That looked easier on TV." 

"I’ve never heard that one before."

"I didn’t know you could do that."

[perverseimps]

Ask my muse about a part of their past that you're curious about.

[perverseimps]

Tom Wisdom as Count Paris (Romeo and Juliet)

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((;asldkj Whoa guys, sorry we haven't been around here lately! Thanks for your patience [as with all the things this mun does, oops], and we'll do our best to be up and running again, soon. :D))

[perverseimps]

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by Kamil Czapiga

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Tattoo by Amanda Wachob

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done by alicecarrier