Chapter Text
Kaz didn't get his first tattoo until three years after he joined the Dregs.
Technically, technically, the rules stated that every member of the Dregs needed a tattoo. If you didn't have a tattoo, you weren't allowed to sleep at the Slat, you couldn't go on jobs, and you weren't allowed a salary.
The man who did the tattoos, Trinket, was thin, dark, and sharp with a scar traced from his left ear all the way to his right eye. He was wry and clever and had a knack for dirty jokes. He also, apparently, had a sliver of a moral compass.
Kaz met him for the first time only two days after joining the Dregs. Per Haskel had taken his shoulder tightly and led him right to the corner of the Slat and ordered Trinket to give him the cup and crow. Trinket and Kaz had stared at each other. Kaz knew what he saw; a boy, too short to even see over the bar and so pale it was a wonder the sun didn't scorch him where he stood.
"I won't tattoo no kid too young to grow hair on his chest," Trinket finally growled. "If he's still around when he's thirteen, fine, but until then, I ain't touching him."
Haskel had turned bright red and stammered something about being in charge, but Trinket just rolled his eyes.
"Get someone else to do it if you want it done that bad. But it ain't gonna be me."
But good tattooists are hard to find in the barrel, especially ones you trust enough to clean their needles properly, or maybe Haskell simply forgot that Kaz didn't share the same tattoo the rest of his soldiers did, but either way, Kaz's skin remained untouched.
Two weeks before Kaz turned thirteen, he'd heard rumour of a Zemeni boy from the university district who had a quick mouth, a quicker gun, and a habit for gambling. Kaz needed a gunslinger. He did what he had to do.
"God, my da's gonna kill me," Jesper mumbled, rolling up his yellow sleeve and offering his arm to Trinket.
"Shut it, Jesper," Kaz said. "Hurry it up, Trinket."
"Don't rush me, boy," Trinket scowled. "You want this to look like Pim's?"
"No."
"Then sit down and shut up."
Kaz liked Trinket. He was good in a fight, and minded his own business, but he also wasn't scared of anyone. Not Kaz, not Per Haskel, no one. If Trinket didn't want to do something, you'd be hard pressed to force him. Kaz had thrown a punch at him, but only once. Trinket had merely punched him back, then Kaz kicked him, and Trinket shoved him, until they were both breathless and bruised, and he still didn't do what Kaz wanted.
So yes, Kaz liked Trinket. He sat down and shut his mouth, watching as the older man dipped his sparkling needle in ink and then stabbed it into Jesper's dark skin. It bled and Trinket wiped it away. Kaz shuffled a deck of cards and studied Jesper's face. He winced slightly when Trinket wiped particularly roughly, but other than that, the pain didn't seem to bother him. That was good. He didn't have time for some country kid who couldn't handle a little needle.
After a little more than an hour, Trinket wrapped Jesper's arm in gauze and bandage, then turned to Kaz.
"Alright, Brekker, your turn."
"I'm not thirteen yet."
"Unless you plan on leaving in the next week, sit down. I already have all my shit out and cleaned, might as well get you over with."
Kaz swallowed, but obeyed, switching seats with Jesper. It wasn't the needle that bothered him, Ghezen knew he'd been through worse, but Trinket insisted on holding his victims arm down when he tattooed them and even if Kaz kept his gloves on, that still left his entire forearm exposed.
Still, Kaz would rather drown that admit defeat, so he rolled up his sleeve and grit his teeth. Trinket slid over a glass of cheap kvas and Kaz swallowed it in one go.
"Saints, you're pale," Jesper said, rubbing his arm tenderly. "You know, back in Novyi Zem, I knew this one Kaelish girl and I swear she was the palest girl I've ever seen in my life, but your skin's like parchment."
Kaz opened his mouth to tell him to shut up, but then Trinket grabbed his arm and the water sloshed against his waist.
"I didn't realize tattoos were so itchy," Jesper continued. "Like, painful? Sure, but itchy? Very unexpected."
Kaz focused on his words, breathing slowly as the water lowered. Jesper didn't seem to care that neither Kaz nor Trinket were responding to him, he was happy to just prattle on about anything and everything that came to mind. Jesper was good at telling stories. Even the most boring of stories seemed interesting when Jesper was the one telling them.
"And did you know that apparently you can just NOT go to classes? If I tried that back home, my da would've had my head, but here they don't even notice! It's great!"
Kaz looked down at his arm. The ink was mixing with the blood, leaking down the side of his arm, warm and slimy. Trinket wiped it away and Kaz shuddered at the touch.
"Almost done, kid," Trinket murmured, too quiet for anyone but Kaz to hear. "Think you can hold your arm still by yourself?"
Kaz nodded wordlessly, and Trinket let go. He breathed out a sigh of relief as the final bit of detail was added.
"Finished."
Jesper craned his neck and looked over before Trinket started to clean and bandage it. "Yours looks better than mine."
"Once the swelling and redness goes down, your colours will deepen," Trinket grumbled, gesturing to his own arms, littered with tattoos so black they almost looked like shadows on his skin. "Brekker's just too pale for it to matter."
As soon as the bandage was tied, Kaz yanked his arm away. He offered a quick nod to Trinket, then stood up.
"Come on," he said to Jesper. "I'll show you to our room."
"Ooh, are we roommates?"
"Shut up, Jesper."