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tattoos: a ritual wine tasting of death via ink poisoning, dignity loss, or all of the above. benjamin understands the appeal. he does. it’s fun to suffer for the sake of personal expression. why else would hairdressers exist? he does not understand well enough to prune the effects of a prudish upbringing, to intercept the militant set of actions that sends him scrubbing his hands with instant shimmer bath & body works hand gel, but still he strikes his facial muscles until they form a somewhat pleasant expression for the woman. “i’d hope so, yes, thank you, i have a meeting very soon just around the block,” he rushes through his script with customer service staff. this is how he gets his normal person oscar taken away. “where did you get those wind chimes?”
a south african study from earlier in the decade* showed impulse purchases are. ever the contrarian, benjamin jams the hand sanitiser into his square inch of pocket and squeezes half its glittery contents out. where did he put his wallet? where did he put his discipline? questions for a later man. he checks his watch. he keeps his eyes there as he spots another customer, more painting than person. “though that’s not the purpose of this business. i did consider getting the mandelbrot set on my back when i was younger. would asking for that much detail be offensive? i can show you a photo if needed. putting family in the wallet is so cliche. you can put your headphones back on too. my voice has been known to potty train dogs in less than a millisecond.” a choking chuckle is tacked on, a footnote of mangled humour. he coughs into his fist. maybe he should leave home decorating to the next hurricane.
* unplanned buying and in-store stimuli in supermarkets by russell abratt and stephen donald goodey
LOTS OF FACES WALK THROUGH THAT DAMNED door, the building perfectly situated in such a way where indigo never knew what to expect. but this was new, baring witness to her first white-collar worker taking in the sights and sounds that their shop had to offer. head will nod as if she truly cared about his upcoming meeting wherever it may be and won't ask for any sort of elaboration. the less she knew, the better. the following question struck her as odd, which is saying a lot to match the smell of scented hand sanitizer that met her nostrils. eyes flit to the chimes, uncertain of just where her father had picked them up. " they're thrifted. " an educated guess at best, and a lie at worst; her father never spent unnecessary money on things that didn't matter.
" the mandelbrot set, " indigo echoed it, unable to stop herself from staring at his mannerisms. her inability to properly gauge him irked her more than she cared to admit, surprised that even though he stepped foot inside her shop, he admitted to wanting a tattoo. " depends, " a hand will gesture to the watch around his wrist he'd just given a glance to, " how soon is that meeting? " she had no real intention on putting her mark on him at this exact minute, more curious to see he'd follow through on his request. " i think i've seen it before. looks almost like an ink splotch. " for the high school dropout, it would be a miracle for her to know anything regarding mathematics. she'd seen it in textbooks, remembered how it looked like one of those inkblot tests, and soon tuned out how an equation make such a pretty shape. if she heard his attempt at a joke it went ignored, never the type to flatter when it wasn't deserved, " —you carry a photo of it in your wallet? let me see. "
— QUIETNESS FILLED HIS BONES like soreness after a fight; something reckless clawing inside of him, a bruise to be pressed until it flourished in discomfort. Alek had never been a quiet boy, his dear mother a witness to his bounds of energy, and his fingers itched for something to do. The lightness of victory painted his every step yet, but things were far too still for his tastes. He could, perhaps, try fighting again; there was always something to do, then. Instead, he wanders around until he finds a little corner that catches his attention, walking in before he can think too much about it. Not that he does much thinking. " Can ya? " his smile could blind the sun, standing tall in front of the door before he finally took a step closer, awkwardness dripping from his every move. " I mean, yes. I would like you to. I — would like to get a new tattoo. I have a few ideas — " deep breaths, Alek, he reminded himself, rubbing the back of his neck as a chuckle fell out of his lips. —" I'm sorry. I'm not even sure if you are taking new clients or stuff. I would like to make an appointment if you got the time. "
HIS BRIGHTENED DISPOSITION WAS ENOUGH to tell her she'd never seen him in here before, a stark contrast to her melancholy shop. he walked as though he didn't know quite how to carry himself in a circumstance such as this one, one where indigo waited unimpressed for him to elaborate. she'd received what she wished for in the form of rambling, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally finding a place to cut in. " why are you sorry? the sign says open, doesn't it? " head jerked to the neon sign hung in the window, still buzzing with life. the low hum would fill the silence on days where she was alone and had forgotten her cd player at home. " got some time for a consultation now, if you want. " if it were any other time, indigo might've pushed him onto another one of her artist's plates. but doing anything else sounded better than wrestling with the creative trench she'd found herself in. "you can have a seat over on the couch. —my portfolio is on the coffee table, the one labelled indigo barkov. " she'd given this spiel so many times, and it showed. " feel free to take a look, i'm just going to grab my notebook. sound good? "
As the door swings open, heralding the entrance of the Sawayama soldier, the atmosphere in the tattoo shop experiences a subtle shift. The interruption's origin lies in the soldier's own languor, a consequence of his current state of ennui. His confident gait and the lingering hum of the motorcycle engine resonate within the confined space, carrying an aura of restlessness. Clutched protectively under his arm is a helmet, a tangible emblem of his recent mode of transportation. "Hey," he greets. A meticulous observer, he takes in the surroundings—the scattered papers, crumpled drawings—and discerns an opportune moment. With a playful glint in his eyes and a smirk adorning his lips, he strategically makes his way toward the front desk. "Looks like you're deeply immersed in the creative process," he remarks. The subtle humor in his tone accentuates the playful nature of his observation. "Need a helping hand to navigate through that creative block?" Bit assumes a casual posture, leaning against the front desk, his gaze thoughtfully lingering on the disarray of strewn papers. "I happen to have an empty spot on my wrist yearning for some ink," he adds, injecting a note of spontaneity into the interaction.
SHOULDERS SLACK IN SOMETHING BORDERING RELIEF at the sight of a familiar face. the act of being in control of her current situation is dropped alongside it, unafraid of bit taking a look around at her station. " something like that. been fistfighting bird references all day and the birds are winning. " it's muttered with a nod, a hand aimlessly flipping through the shop planner strewn on the desk. no point in denying the obvious, in letting the wound fester anymore than it already has in her brain, " sounds like you have an idea. is that why you're here? " her interest is clearly piqued at the proposition, giving away her tell via blue hues flitting down to the general vicinity of the spot in question. " how empty is empty? " a hand is raised, fingers curling and uncurling to coax him into showing her his wrist. " so what's the deal here that you're looking to strike, exactly? i fight through artist's block and you get a free tattoo? " her tone is teasing, as if she couldn't be easily swayed into doing anything other than drawing a bird for the twentieth time. " i hope you'll tip nicely, at least. "
IN SPITE OF IT BEING HER own business, name on the deed to the building; she never felt quite as comfortable playing her own music aloud. felt far too intimate to share her own cd collections and still opted for the selection her father left for her and music her employees would bring in. it's why indigo can be found wearing headphones at her workspace, cd player nearby along with strewn about crumpled up papers of drawings she hated. there's a creative block that she hasn't been able to shake for the past two hours, stuck drawing and redrawing a cardinal for a client that was particularly annoying during their consultation. the from wind chimes ring to signal someone entering the building and indigo exhales a frustrated huff, pushing herself up from her hunched over position. today, she has the exciting opportunity to return to her roots as a receptionist, as the girl who usually works the front desk is sick. there's no attempt made in pretending to be thrilled, but she'll still try to remain cordial as a good business owner should. " just a second, " headphones are taken off, cd player paused and indigo walks from her work station towards the front desk to find the culprit of the interruption. " can i help you? "
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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★ , no way, haven’t you ever heard of INDIGO BARKOV? perhaps you know them best as GO-GO. spotted under new york's city lights, i’ve heard they’re a TATTOO ARTIST/BUSINESS OWNER/ASSOCIATE that’s protected by THE SAWAYAMAS, spilled blood for loyalty is thicker than water. the rumour goes that the TWENTY-EIGHT YEAR OLD is known to be closed-off and distant, yet laid-back and resourceful. it’s SLOTH that’s their biggest vice, but hey, what do i fuckin’ know? their favourite song on the job is STUPID GIRL by GARBAGE and are never seen without their ROLLERSKATES, hard to believe in superstition in such a godless city. ask the right people and they’ll tell you that they remind them of: THE WAFTING SMELL OF LAVENDER, A GIGGLE IN AN EMPTY ROOM, NEON LIGHTS AND CIGARETTE SMOKE ENTWINED. so whatever you do, and may vengeance have mercy on you, do not fuck with them.
grizz, they/them, est
full name , nicknames : indigo yekaterina barkov , indi/digs/go-go
age , dob , zodiac : twenty - eight , october 28 , scorpio
similar characters : satine ( moulin rouge ) , maeve wiley ( sex education ) , faye valentine ( cowboy bebop ) , mystique ( x-men ) , selina kyle ( gotham ) , wichita ( zombieland ) , summer finn ( 500 days of summer )
biography
an only child to a single father— dima. to make ends meet, he got caught up with the wrong people; in turn becoming a soldier for the sevskaya bratva, an organized crime family located in russia. barely ten years old and she could recall having to take care of their home in his absence.
indigo doesn't remember what happened, or why they had to flee their home. dima would refuse time and time again and give the excuse of it being for her safety. it always felt like it was something he did wrong, she could see it in the way he would refuse to meet her stare or dismiss the discussion entirely.
the age of twelve and indigo— she demands to be called after seeing an ad for an american perfume— finds herself in a cramped one bedroom apartment in brooklyn. this city is gritty, dangerous, and her father teaches her how to protect herself.
dima opens a tattoo shop toska ink, and indigo starts skipping class in favor of learning the trade. she becomes the shop's official receptionist as indigo is able to learn english far faster than her father.
five years pass and the shop starts inviting new and sketchier faces into the fray. the name sawayama is uttered at least four, maybe five times a week and her father still refuses to clue her in on just what those men are doing in the backroom. she asks if he's returned to the life he led and russia, only to receive a smack across the face. indigo wouldn't ask anymore questions.
four more years and her father gets sick. he'd tried to hide it from her as always— it's only on his deathbed does she finally receive answers. the sawayama 'organization', the meetings that take place.. the 'goods' that are sometimes trafficked through.
indigo will never forget the guilt-ridden look on her father's face at the realization that his life is hers now, that he'd effectively damned his daughter to a lifetime of crime at the young age of twenty-two.
she has been the owner and lead artist of toska ink for six years now, and works closely with the sawayama in the form of offering a safe place to talk business without the prying eyes of new york city's finest.
personality & fun facts
there has been no time to grieve, indigo has refused to allow herself a moment of reprieve the loss of her only family. she's far too angry to even consider it.
so unbelievably guarded. smiles are a rarity unless you get under her skin. she tends to keep people at an arms length.
doesn't drive, prefers to rollerskate and take the subways.
is an extremely talented artist and in spite of all this, takes pride in her business and wants to uphold the standard her father placed when he'd initially opened it.
comes off as sarcastic and laid-back, sometimes people underestimate her considering her choice of overtly feminine fashion and platinum blonde hair.
is good at covering up her russian accent. indigo has been in america for longer than she's been in russia, and speaks english more often than her native tongue.
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