Chapter Text
It was winter, technically, even though the weather wouldn’t admit it. That was LA for you. Trixie and Katya’s fall tour was done and over with, had been for over a month, and she and Katya had hardly spoken, which wasn’t abnormal for them given their need for breaks and their ability to pick up where they left off with each other like no time had passed. Like a favorite, perfectly worn-in sweater, which conveniently produced money in the pockets every time Trixie got to wear it.
But her best friend never really left her mind. Katya had created an indelible mark in Trixie’s life, permanent and deep, and it was never going away, for good or for bad. Like a powerful river that had carved its way through her soul, or a support beam in the scaffolding of her life, firm and ever-present. In the little comments she made that she knew would set Katya off into a wheezing laugh, or flashes of color or headache-inducing prints and textures she knew Katya would itch to get her hands and somehow combine into an elegantly chaotic outfit.
Trixie was in that headspace between thinking and not. She’d just finished a run, appreciating the bit of coolness the time of year gave to the air in her lungs. She was taking a shortcut back home down some boulevard she knew just well enough to notice a tattoo shop she hadn’t noticed before with an insignia of a little rabbit and fox wrapped in thorns. Briar’s Patch.
On a whim, Trixie entered.
It smelled like weed in a pleasant way, some sort of incense Trixie wasn’t familiar with. She liked its understated headiness, and the shop décor paired well with it. Macrame and greenery and surrealist pop art hung on the walls, bright colors warring for space amongst the earthy accents. Others might call it clashy, but Trixie enjoyed the contrast (sort of like half of Katya’s outfits).
“Hi! Did you have an appointment?” asked a curvy, red-headed woman as she rounded a divider. She was heavily tattooed in a variety of styles, and was dressed in a cheery floral-print shirt and denim shorts in a sort of alternative-meets-pinup look. She was wearing collection of tiny enamel pins: she/her pronouns, the omnisexual flag, and a little running rabbit Trixie recognized as the same from the sign outside.
“Oh, no. Just wanted to check you guys out. You’re new, right?”
“Yes! The name’s Tammy, my partner Briar and I just moved here from Washington two weeks ago, I think? Er, maybe last month—time is such a weird fucking soup, man.”
“It is,” Trixie laughed, already loving her vibe. “This is such a cool shop! And you really compliment the space, I love the look.”
“Thank you!” Tammy said modestly with a hand on her chest. “It’s all sort of my little passion project. Gotta throw your soul out there somewhere, right?”
“Definitely.”
“So are you looking to get some ink on you?”
Was she? “Um, no. Well, yes? Maybe. I don’t know!” Trixie said, scrunching her face in a self-conscious sort of grin. This was coming out of nowhere for her. “Should I? I don’t really have a reason to.”
“Girl, you never need a reason to get a tattoo!” Tammy exclaimed. “Plenty of walk-ins get flash pieces that don’t mean a thing to them. But it’s art. That has meaning in itself, right?” she said, shrugging. “Or, it doesn’t. Nihilists are welcome too.”
“Yeah! Of course,” Trixie agreed. Though she wasn’t sure exactly which part she was agreeing to. The art part? Not needing a reason? Or the nihilism? If she was being honest . . . maybe all three. That was kind of how she approached her drag, anyway.
But, it was more than that. Yet again, Trixie was reminded about her and Katya’s conversation months before in the dressing room after a show, when she’d found out Katya had paid homage to their relationship in a delicate script tattoo of a complicated faux-equation about special relativity, opining on its significance and meaningless all at once in that poetic, cerebral way only Katya could. Trixie hadn’t made a big deal out of it at the time, but she’d thought about it several times after.
“How about this,” Tammy said, leaning on the front desk, one arm akimbo. “If you were to get one . . . what would you choose? Maybe it’ll get you thinking on it for the future.”
Trixie considered for a moment. “Can I see your flash pieces?”
“Sure thing! I don’t have another client coming in for about two hours, so you can take your time.”
Trixie followed her back to her station, passing by a tattoo artist who must have been Briar, sporting a tiny fox pin, in a session. They were peeling off a bright purple stencil from a client’s calf of what looked like . . . Betty Boop tying up Mario using a Shabari technique?
Tammy’s station was an eclectic mix of hand-made art pieces, including an exaggerated but charming portrait sketch on a napkin to a downright hideous-looking ceramic mug with teeth circling the rim (Katya would have loved it). Trixie’s eyes were drawn to a particularly trippy, vibrant digital piece signed and framed on proud display on the wall, a commission probably, displaying a sort of fairy tale landscape with fantasy-like woodland animals and an alien-looking princess. Trixie spotted a rabbit and fox among thorned bushes.
Her flash book was just as eclectic, Trixie found, featuring everything from funky little retro cartoons to cutesy horror imagery, but also including more trendy designs like smiling mushrooms and band-aid-wearing frogs. Several of the more bizarre ones made Trixie snort softly as she looked.
“Seeing anything you like?”
“All of it,” Trixie said, continuing to flip. “I love your style.” But on her? Trixie wasn’t sure.
“That’s nice to hear! Always feels good when someone appreciates your work. You can check out my Instagram as well where I post healed photos.”
Trixie stopped, pausing to stare at one in simple black linework. She pointed to it. “Does this one come in color?”
“Sure thing! You can choose whatever colors you want, hon. That’s half the fun.”
Trixie hesitated a second longer. “I’ll get it.”
Tammy put a hand to her chest in surprise. “Really? Fantastic! When would you like it done?”
“Um, is now okay? How long would it take?”
“Oh, not long. You sure? Don’t feel any pressure at all.”
“No, no! You’ve been so great,” Trixie said, leaning in and touching her arm. “I just figure . . .” Trixie gazed down at the tattoo, lips quirking in a smile. It would be perfect. “Life is just a whole-ass weird fucking soup anyway, right? Let’s do it.”
“Ha! Love it. I’ll go check you in and let Briar know I’m in a session, and I’ll be right back with that stencil.”
Trixie couldn’t say she took the pain better than she expected.
Surprisingly, the swiping of the paper towel was almost the worst part, feeling like rugburn by the end. There was a fair amount of nervous laughing and mentally keeping herself from envisioning fire ants infesting her skin. But Tammy was a skilled conversationalist, and knew just when to crack a joke to help release the tension with a laugh or giving Trixie room to tack on a story to one of Tammy’s own. And, they’d picked a relatively easy place—at least for the actual tattooing portion.
“Now, you’re going to want to keep pressure off of this for a minimum of three days, seven if possible. I know it might be hard to do,” Tammy joked, removing her gloves.
“Yeah, well, luckily I sleep on my other side. And my boyfriend’s out of town.”
Tammy giggled a little and gave him the rest of her aftercare spiel and a few complimentary supplies.
Once Trixie had paid at the front register, Tammy confided in her.
“So, I have to admit, I’m a little bit of a fan,” she said in a private tone. “But! I understand if you don’t want this one posted to our socials, what with the placement, and your job and everything,” she said. “It’s always an open invitation to help us advertise, but no worries at all if you’d prefer to keep it private.”
Trixie was pretty sure Tammy had recognized her before she’d spied her name on her card, just from the way Tammy’s countenance had shifted from professional to shock for a split second, then back. Trixie was practiced at noticing it by now whenever she entered public spaces as a D-list celebrity (as Katya had once put it). But to her immense credit, Tammy had had the courtesy to treat Trixie like a regular customer from beginning to end, leaving it up to her to bring up the topic of her drag career. Trixie hadn’t, and appreciated the double courtesy of Tammy not automatically seeing the business she’d given them as an opportunity to use Trixie’s platform to bolster the store’s online presence or requesting a shoutout. Trixie rarely did those anyway, besides the fact that people often underestimated the logistical complications. The last thing Trixie would want is an army of well-meaning young queer people overwhelming a brand new small business, bringing with them all the good and bad that huge crowds inevitably brought.
“I really appreciate you for that. Thank you,” Trixie said. “Privacy can feel like a weird soup sometimes, too.” Once spilled, hard to get back in the bowl. And it got on everything, especially if it was your favorite shirt—or your favorite person, in this case. Tammy nodded understandingly, even as Trixie realized it probably only made sense in her own head. “You can crop the rest of me out so you just see the piece, and leave it untagged.”
“Oh, great! Will do! Ugh, I’m so glad you came in today,” Tammy beamed. “And we’re honored to have given you your first ever ink.”
“I know! Isn’t it crazy?” Trixie shook her head. “My friend’s gonna be shocked you convinced me. Well, so will anyone who sees it. Which will probably be a total of three people, including you.”
“I’m honored,” Tammy said. “And I have to know: did it end up having a meaning?”
Trixie grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe? Yes. The colors, for sure.”
“I love it when clients bring put their own bit of genius into it. Sounds like it was perfect for you,” Tammy said. She gave Trixie a wink. “And I’m sure your friend will love it.”
As soon as Trixie got to her house, she sat down uncomfortably and dialed Katya. It took eight rings, but eventually Katya picked up, with a high-pitched moan as a hello.
“Guess who got a tattoo.”
“What? No you didn’t.”
“Yep.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yeah,” Trixie said, laughing. “I did.”
“No you didn’t!” Katya insisted.
“Girl! Yes I did!” Trixie yelled.
“You’re joking with me. You’re joshing my tree.”
“I’m not joshing anyone’s tree. I got it an hour ago. It was a flash piece. It stings like a motherfucker and I already want to itch the shit out of it. But the girl covered it with second-skin and said if it gets unbearable, I can try slapping it after I peel it off in the shower if it still itches.”
“Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. You did not. Trixie!?” Katya sounded torn between panic and excitement, emotions sending her tone up and down a scale. “What is it of? Where?”
“It’s a portrait of your face, actually, on my butt.”
Katya laughed softly. “Stop.”
“With your mouth right over my asshole.”
“Trixie,” Katya warned. “Let me see it. I’m dying. Facetime me.”
“I can’t show you,” Trixie said, coy.
“Don’t you fucking da—where are you?”
“At my house.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You really don’t—”
But Katya had hung up. Trixie rolled her eyes, tossing her phone on the couch and putting on an episode of the Great British Baking Show, grabbing a pillow.
A concerningly short amount of time later, Katya showed up at her door, looking as if she’d been in the middle of doing ten different things and had thrown on some clothes and bailed on all ten. Her face was fresh and dewy from a facemask or moisturizer, though she had leftover test streaks of makeup on her arm, and Trixie spotted some errant dabs of glue on her fingertips and bits of glitter on her shirt.
“Where?” Katya said, craning her head up and around Trixie’s body, hands subconsciously fluttering over Trixie’s ribcage and waist and arms and chest.
“Hi, hello, my eyes are up here,” Trixie said, trying not to duck from Katya’s touch as it came treacherously close to feeling ticklish.
Unsatisfied and almost crazed, Katya stepped back, seemingly trying to get a hold of herself. She grinned, that beautiful grin full of white teeth and charm and raw emotion that Trixie loved, and had to be careful of. Katya felt like a star sometimes, burning so bright and hot, it was inevitable you’d be pulled into her orbit and incinerated. Trixie had found that balance eventually, in no small part thanks to Katya and her own efforts to orient herself in order to orbit each other in harmony. They’d had to sacrifice so much—too much, it felt like sometimes—to accommodate each other and their respective lives. But it was worth it, this friendship. Every second.
“Come on. Sit down,” Trixie said. “I want to tell you about it.”
Katya made a squeal and flounced past her, folding herself into her favorite of Trixie’s chairs. Trixie sat on the couch closest to Katya—and winced, bringing a leg up to cross it over the other gingerly.
Katya eyed her, almost accusatory, and pointed. “Is it there? On your thigh?”
“No,” Trixie teased. “But it does affect my sitting.”
Katya grabbed Trixie’s hand with a vice grip. “Is it really on your ass?”
Trixie was hit with an unexpected pang. She missed this. The old Katya. The one who touched her, grabbed her, looked at her like she was the only thing in the room nearly every second they were together. Who flirted overtly and got overly excited and practically manic whenever Trixie did or said something—anything—she deemed worthy of a reaction. Which was a lot. That Katya had grown and died long ago, and Trixie knew she was better for it. They both were. And Trixie hated herself for missing a different version of Katya that wasn’t healthy. But . . . she did sometimes. She only got glimpses of that Katya every once in a while now, like tonight, and every time, it threw her how with just how much it threw her.
Katya pulled back. Maybe she’d thought Trixie’s hesitation had been in reaction to her touch. And it had been, in a way. But Trixie wished she’d kept it there.
Trixie looked down and back up. “Sort of,” she hedged.
“Oh, come on,” Katya said dramatically. She looked like she was ready to take a nearby slipper and hit her with it. Trixie smiled.
“Side of the cheek. Sort of . . . diagonal to my hip, I guess? I don’t know, I let her pick whatever area back there that would hurt the least.”
“And did it? Hurt?” Katya asked, settling in from the details, eyes bright.
“No, it felt like fairy kisses,” Trixie said sarcastically. “Yes, it fucking hurt! Felt like little microscopic gnomes were trying to drill gold out of my flesh.”
Katya gave her an amused expression. “Okay, Rumpelstiltskin.”
“I’ve got cottage-core shit on my mind,” Trixie said, throwing a hand up. “Some of Tammy’s flash pieces were like, little mushrooms, cannibal pixies . . . I almost considered getting a laughing ghoul, but I thought that would be too on the nose.”
“Tammy was your artist?”
Trixie told Katya about her, the shop, how she’d loved the mix of vibes, and how Tammy had treated her like an actual human and not a way to get likes or a free photo.
“I still can’t believe this. How did she convince you? I thought you were gonna die with virgin skin!” Katya exclaimed.
“She said something about time being a weird soup? I don’t know. Something just clicked.” Trixie had been already been thinking about Katya that day. In a way, Trixie felt a little closer to her now, having shared in an experience they previously couldn’t relate on.
“A soup?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s like—it made sense at the time.”
Katya laughed. “Are you gonna show it to me, Barbara, or what?”
Trixie felt suddenly shy. “I can show you on my phone.”
Katya leaned in close as Trixie showed her the picture Tammy had taken before covering it. The skin around it was red and irritated, and she’d told her the colors would fade from their current vibrancy and might need a touch up in a few years, especially the pink, Tammy had said. Apparently, pastels had a penchant for falling out.
Katya took Trixie’s phone in both hands, studying it. She didn’t speak for several moments.
“What do you think?” Trixie asked.
Katya didn’t answer immediately. Her eyebrows had become arched like they did when she was focusing intensely, and Trixie didn’t exactly know why she was taking it so seriously.
“I love it,” Katya said matter-of-factly. “I really do, honestly. It’s interesting. Not exactly what I’d expect, but it’s on-brand, if that makes sense.” A bright spot lit up in Trixie’s chest. “What does it mean? Or does it have a meaning to you?”
“I’m not really sure yet,” Trixie said, taking her phone back from Katya and studying the tattoo herself. “I think so. Parts of it, yeah.”
The tattoo itself was only about the size of a silver dollar, an upper-body portrait of a 50’s era young woman, dressed as a vintage clown. She was smiling sweetly to herself, though she was crying. She was dipping her brush in her blood-red tears, using them as makeup to paint her face in a handheld mirror only she could see the reflection of. It was simple, but pretty, with a surreal, uroboros-like quality.
“There’s the obvious painted clown imagery, and the vintage look. I guess it could represent me, or all of society. I like that it looks like a cycle, and you don’t know what she sees.” Trixie handed the phone back to Katya. “The only thing I had a say in were the two main colors, though.”
“Yeah?” Katya said, looking it over again.
“I made the hair pink, and wanted the tears red.”
“Why those?”
“I thought pink hair would look cute. And . . . the red is for you.” Trixie shrugged. “I think the whole decision was about you, really.”
Katya glanced up from her phone and looked at her. Just looked at her. Looked at her for so long, Trixie almost got nervous. Katya handed her phone back. “That’s nice.”
Trixie blinked. “’That’s nice?’” she repeated incredulously. “That’s all you have to say? I just told you I immortalized you on my body, bitch! You’re a part of me forever now.”
Katya smiled and scrunched her shoulders, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious. “Why me?”
Trixie was dumbfounded by the question. She would have thought Katya was baiting her if not for the sudden quietness in her eyes. So, instead of making it into an absurdist joke or teasing insult like they sometimes did, turning those sensitive moments into something more comfortable, Trixie decided to be vulnerable right back. “You’re the most important person in my life. You’re incredibly inspiring to me. Why wouldn’t it be you?”
And it carried some pain to say it, but it was true. Katya flexed her jaw and looked away. Trixie continued.
“When you showed me your tattoo last summer . . . I guess it got me thinking,” Trixie said, her reasoning solidifying even as she spoke it out loud. “We really don’t have anything permanent in this life. You’re right. Even time and gravity and space are relative and alterable. But this?” Trixie held up her arm. “This skin is real, to me, right now. And I want a reminder of you in it. Every fucking day.”
Katya took a moment before meeting her gaze again. Trixie thought she might have gone too far or not made enough sense, until Katya asked, “Can I hug you?”
Trixie got up and met her halfway, savoring the way Katya held her, fast and genuine. Burning her love into Trixie like a sun. Trixie let herself be incinerated by it then.
“I’m never letting you go, bitch,” Katya muttered into Trixie’s shoulder.
“Please don’t,” Trixie said back. And she hugged her harder.