City's breaking down on a camel's back
They just have to go, 'cause they don't know wack
So while you fill the streets, it's appealing to see
You won't get out the county 'cause you're damned and free

outfit - Max Dwyer

Dion seriously thought he deserved a reward. There was all his work to get the Bacchae started, which he'd really actually started planning some months ago already. To distract himself. It wasn't until he ran the numbers that he figured out that he could, actually, do it for real. It was a lot of organising and actually sending letters back and forth to Rosa and Addison to get all this shit settled. How his always-wearing-a-suit half brother managed to get anything done in his side of Islington was beyond him. With the people Dion wanted him to talk to. Anyway, it'd gotten done. It was working. It was gonna take a lot of management, but for now things were running just fine. Cyril liked the extra buck, Dion liked the extra buck, everybody liked their fun. He'd gotten that job for Sbisa -knowing her brother, she'd deliver fine work too, but so far he was keeping her at the basics- and Kim. Well, lots of fighters, but Kim was now exclusive for his club. Then there were Finn and Syn, who occasionally stopped by. Also, that Jesse Whateverhisnamewas bloke. Potential there, though it'd be best for him to start practicing with Kim. Even if only an hour or two a week. Hell, Di could pay him for it even. Better fights meant more bets and more people watching.

So what if he was keeping himself distracted? Those shrinks were fuckers who only told him shit he already knew. Waste of money. He'd quit that already. He didn't need him asking questions that he didn't want to answer. Not even to himself. Yeah, there was some stuff he still had to handle. He would. Soon. Maybe next week. If he couldn't keep himself busy enough to avoid it for longer. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do. Everything Dion did was probably about seventy percent shit at the best of times. He was aware. He'd even gone and fixed some shit with his mother instead of going to do this. Talking to Camille of all people. Okay, fine. At least that had helped in a way. A bit. Some unresolved issues from when he was a toddler. His shoulders felt lighter like this. It wasn't all good, but it was better. Even now, the less he saw of the woman the better. She may not do anything anymore, but that didn't mean that he was healed.

The point was, that he hadn't fucked anything up in a few months and he thought he deserved a reward for that. What better than to throw away money on pointless body art? He liked getting tattoos. He'd come here as soon as he turned seventeen, with money he'd set aside for years. Specifically for this. Yeah, so now he wanted more. Max was his usual artist. He knew what Dion liked. Traditional, black and white with hints of colour. Just one colour per tat, actually. Thick, smooth lines. He knew what he wanted this time. So he rang the doorbell, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out on the floor.

As much as Max never actually admitted it. He did love the summer, even if the English summer was not your typical sun shining season. It was also when he got his steady waves of customers and that was something that both made him happy and excited. He loved to have people to actually talk to. He didn’t think that any of them could tell he was a werewolf. He only disappeared for about two days each month but other than that, he was around. He just made sure to take that extra day so he fully recovered from his monthly transformation. It may not be enough but he did have a business to run. Summer for Max also meant he got to see his nieces and nephews who were away at Hogwarts through the year. He made sure to spend as. much time as possible with them. He told himself it was probably as close as he would get to have his own children. He was happy with being an uncle instead of a father. He had told himself it would be okay.

His experience with women of late had kept him away from them. Not intentionally but it was for his own sake. He couldn’t risk another woman getting close to him for him to reveal what he was for them to then break up again. He may no longer be a woman he still had a heart. He hoped that someone realised that. He knew that they were still people out there who didn’t think werewolves had hearts. Well, he didn’t associate himself with those people. They weren’t his time. Max was already very careful with who he associated with and he saw no point in changing that. He knew it was better for him to stay in knockturn alley just in case someone came across him and began to suspect he was a werewolf. He wasn’t sure how anyone could know but there were people who had studied the species carefully and it wouldn’t take them much time. There was the rare visit to Diagon Alley but it was just to Flourish and Blotts or to somewhere to indulge his sweet tooth. While he did bake (yes, werewolves do bake) he didn’t want to go to that effort each time he had a sweet craving. Max oddly felt more comfortable in the muggle world, he just had to go through Diagon Alley to get there. Perhaps it was because there was less change of people finding out what he was in the muggle world. Sure his sisters and his parents knew but they wouldn’t dare share it with anyone.

He just knew when to head into the muggle world and when to steer clear. It wasn’t the full moon right now and that made him happy. Some days he just preferred to have a normal day. With being a werewolf, they were few and far between. Hearing someone ring the doorbell he ran his hand through his hair and answered the door. ”Hey, look who’s free” he smirked as he stepped aside for the younger wizard to enter. Dion had never told him that he hated school but from how he spoke about Hogwarts, it was enough indication. ”You know the routine” he nodded to the seat that Dion normally took each he got inked.

Dion had ink on his chest, on both his arms, and on one calf. He was going to complete his sleeves at some point, but there was no hurry to that. Besides, it cost a lot of money that he had better things to spend on. Tats were a fancy of his, just because he liked them and decided to treat himself at some point. He always got them here, though. Magic was good for some things and magical tattoos were better than muggle ones. The ink never faded, the skin healed quicker, sometimes they moved. If he wanted them too. The hourglass on his breastbone did run, when he allowed it to. There were charms to put the tattoos on pause, he almost always had that on. Yet, the hourglass dropped the blood red sand and turned once ever twelve hours. He didn't know why he just let it happen, it was very anxiety inducing. He would have, at some point, talked to his shrinks about it. Only he'd stopped going and wouldn't go ever again. Maybe he'd ask Cyril. No doubt his brother would say that it was one of his many self destructive tendencies. That while he could allow himself to heal to a certain point, he couldn't let everything be fine. Not really. It was fucked up, was what it was.

"Hey yourself, Dwyer." Smirking, he stepped into the shop and went to the designated chair. He wasn't getting anything overly fancy today. Should be done in a few hours. He didn't have all that much time to spare anyway, so that was good. Free. That was a good way of putting it. Took a whole year longer than he thought it would, but not because he was stupid or anything. Throwing oneself in the Thames and missing months of schooling because of the Janus Thickey Ward did that. Didn't matter, he got out of it all relatively unscathed. Only one year worse for wear, and since it was all time he didn't think he would be alive for anyway it didn't really make much of a difference. At the very least it gave him time to figure out what he wanted to do once he finished his school. True, without that unbreakable vow he would never have gone back to Hogwarts. He was sure Nathan had done it just to fuck with him, and not because he cared about Dion's education as he tried to make him believe. What did he need his NEWTs for? He knew how to make money, a lot of it, and he didn't actually need a damn school degree for it. Shit.

"Not lookin' for anything fancy. Just some shit on my hands. Couldn't have that over at school and all those ink-hiding creams felt like make up. I refuse to wear any of it, but ink can't be visible at Hogwarts. Not even for those who're of age. What kind of bullshit is that?" He rolled his eyes and sat back, watching him close the door and come closer.

Max didn’t mind inking anyone, the only time he had had ever been caught of guard was the one time he had inked Esther’s father. Had he known who the bastard was earlier, he would have not walked out of his parlour, alive. He had felt silly in that moment for not picking up who the man was. The signs should have been clearer but then again it didn’t matter now, the two of them were no longer together. He had fallen in love with the wrong witch but he was over her now. The two of them didn’t talk. Max had no idea where she was now. Most of him didn’t care even, but some small part of him wondered. But now the man decided it was better for him on his own. He was much happier on his own and it was far less complicated. He functioned much better during those times. His transformations were also a lot less excruciating.

At least for now he had some time until his next one. He would just go about his normal routine when the full moon next rolled around. Had he been attacked while he was still in school, he was’t sure what he would do. Had he and his sisters been camping a few years earlier while he had still been in school. But he knew for sure his life would be very different. For one, he would have likely never gotten together with Christina and she would have never died but on the flip side he would have been suffering for a lot longer and there was a chance that the psychological damage would be greater too. If was difficult for Max to say that is life would have definitely been better had been attacked earlier. It was not a thought that a werewolf should have but it was something that Max thought about from time to time. It also made him wonder what his relationship would be like with this parents. Would it be like was now? It was no so cordial but Max understood their hesitation. After all, he had kept his secret from them for more than a decade and that was not something anyone could simply brush off. It was harder when it was your own son too.

With it being the summer and Hogwarts being out of session, the familiar thought of Henry drifted to Max’s mind. It was not something he could stop thinking about this time of year. All that he could have been doing with Henry but it would never happen. Instead he took some weird (and strange comfort in hearing what his younger customers got up to. Of course Dixon fell into the group and since he had just graduated, Max would be interested to hear what the wizard would be getting up to now. ”Well don’t judge me but you may be surprised to learn that I didn’t have any ink until I finished school. Didn’t have for bother with any ink concealing creams” the older wizard laughed. ”But at least you don’t have to deal with any of that now” he surmised as he took the design from Dixon and looked it over before nodding and getting the things he would need.

 

- THEY JUST HAVE TO GO -

"'CAUSE THEY DON'T KNOW WACK"

    Dion had always been displeased by his own magical heritage. He thought that if he'd had two halfblood parents, or even no magical parents, he wouldn't have felt that way. The problem was that his mother was muggle and his father was a halfblood so there was no question where he got it from. Nathan was the scum of the earth, though, and it was Dion's very basic instinct to refuse and reject anything that came from him. Wether it was the money he'd given Camille to keep him fed as a child, the supposed help he tried to provide now, or even a clap on the fucking back. Nah, Dion wanted nothing to do with him, so it was just his fucking luck that he got magic and ended up going to a magic secondary school and taking part of some magical world. All because of him, a part of himself he couldn't deny Being magical wasn't bad, he would have admitted that if he were neutral on the matter. He would have admitted the fact that magical healing was useful and charms were useful and transfiguration was cool and that everything he learned at Hogwarts could make his life easier. If he just gave in to that, everything would be a walk in the park. Yet, he was a contrary bastard and would actually prefer to die than to rely on something he got from Nathan, it was as simple as that. 
    Now, his rejection didn't mean that he didn't use magic. His tattoos, for example, were magical, and the healing salves he used for bruises and cuts were magical too. Dion could be hypocritical when he wanted to, but those? They were luxuries, they were details, they were unnecessary. When it came down to it, he did without. When it was important, he did without. Now? This was just useful. Magic tats could move, they healed quicker, their colours kept. It was generally a better use of his money, so he'd given in. If there was something that could occasionally win out against his contrary nature, it was his greedy business side. In this case? Yeah, Dwyer was the better choice. Plus, he was actually an okay bloke. Not too nosy, not too quiet, had a sense of humour. That was more than could be said for over half the assholes in Knockturn Alley. Hell, in the entire magical world, for all Dion cared. Needless to say, he didn't have many friends and while he may now consider Dwyer to be one, he was a 'somewhat begrudgingly liked' acquaintance.
    "Not judging," he snorted and leaned back, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows to expose the still bare skin. "Some people don't get into it until later, or don't have the liberty to." Dion had had the money, his mother hadn't given a shit, and he'd liked tattoos. The outcome was obvious. Other people occasionally had a hard time making up their mind, or getting a proper budget, or getting permission from whoever was their designated adult. Dion? He did whatever the fuck he wanted because nobody had ever cared what he did. "True. Fucking free, finally. How's business around here?"

Permanent: Di's Tats

JUNIER of GS + Adox

Working in a Tattoo parlour was often seen as a shady profession or it was questioned but Max didn’t care. Working and being the owner here allowed him to have both money and solitude. Sure he had his fair share of customers but there also periods, where it was so quiet a pin could drop and Max would turn to see where it was. Of course being a werewolf came with much better hearing than humans but what was most prominent of all was the better sense of smell. He was always aware when someone was about to enter the parlour before they even came in. Max never found it a problem to have better senses that he had had as a human but he did find it a problem when it came to eating out. He could smell all the food that was cooking in a restaurant and it drove him a little crazy. It made ordering or deciding what to eat much harder. He knew that people constantly complained about having too much choice when it came to eating out but it was much harder for him. He wasn’t sure for other werewolves. Maybe unlike him, they didn’t eat out as much as he did. Max did cook, he could cook but had money and if he wanted to treat himself to a nice meal he did so.

His place of choice was naturally going to be muggle London. It was much safer. Muggles there would never suspect him of being a werewolf. They probably thought they were all fairy tales anyway. Max’s younger nieces and nephews probably thought the same thing. But as they got older they would learn that they did in fact exist. Max would never think he would ever meet one let alone turn into one. Yet, here he was as a werewolf. But he had adjusted well enough to what he was. Sure he transformed monthly but it was hardly an inconvenience for him work wise. He had his employees who would cover for him and that worked for him. His customers still came, got inked and left. It was a constant cycle but Max didn’t mind it. In fact, he rather appreciated some predictability right now. He had been through enough with Esther and losing his brother in law and he just wanted stability.

At least with Dion now, the lad could now decide what he wanted to do and when. Max rolled his eyes at the younger wizard’s expression. Max looked over the bare skin and then glanced back at the design. He had to make sure he was not going near any scars that the younger bloke had. ”Then you have those idiots who question why people get inked and don’t know jack about self-expression” he laughed and shook his head. Max’s own dad thought he could have picked a better career for himself but he hardly stopped his son from doing what he wanted to. ”Business here is the same mate, progressing as always” he said before he summoned over his inks and quills from the counter and put on his gloves. ”As long as the ministry doesn’t come knocking I’ll be happy” He added before he dipped the quill into the wink and watched the stem fill up.

Words: 557

 

- THEY JUST HAVE TO GO -

"'CAUSE THEY DON'T KNOW WACK"

    Dion didn't know why he'd gotten his first tattoo, he didn't think it meant anything in particular and he had never been particularly bothered with what was 'pretty' or cool. Decorative. At first it had probably been something that he did because people told him not to. If it seemed extreme that he would mark his skin forever just to be petty, then the fact that he had tried to kill himself just to bother his father would be out of this world. He was a man of extremes, he recognised that, and he had never been any more toned down. In fact, he thought that he was even worse when he was younger, without experiencing half the shit he had in order to calm him down. So time had passed and he had ended up getting more tattoos, probably because he liked them, they rarely meant anything. Details, sometimes, perhaps. The hourglass on his chest for when he'd been thinking of ending himself, the eye on his bicep for all his work spying on people. Nothing extreme and nothing truly personal. The rest was just shit he'd liked, stuff he had appreciated. He could probably come up with some bullshit explanation if anyone asked him, but that would be a lie. Still, he was used to lying. It was his go to reaction to most questions and that hadn't changed, no matter how much he might have 'matured'. Or whatever Cyril liked to call it.
    "Yeah, but you can't ask much of some people. There's morons everywhere." There was, he dealt with them on a daily basis. Then again, he couldn't really complain because he profited from them. The day idiots stopped gambling on shit they knew nothing about was the day his profit margins went down drastically. He wasn't looking forwards to that ever happening so it was best to keep stupid people stupid. Was that a dick move? Yeah, definitely. It was his specialty, being an asshole. Nobody should ever be surprised. "I hear ya. This place should be fine, though. What reason could they have to look into a tattoo shop?" Every place in Knockturn Alley had its seedy origins, had something behind closed doors that the owners didn't want anyone snooping around in. Not that it was surprising, considering who owned most of the shops. Still, that was exactly why they wouldn't look in here. Not only were there far bigger fish to fry -even on the same block, let alone the Alley- but the people in charge now were the people who were most at home here. They wouldn't be disrupting anything on their home turf, that was just not what they did. It would be terrible for business and these people didn't want to ruin their business. 
    Having taken a look through a few design books a couple of times before, he had decided on what he wanted a few days ago. So he took a paper from his pocket and held it out. Inside was an illustration of what he would get on his hands. Half on each side. It should be fine, quick and easy and no colour. "How long d'you think this will take?" He didn't have all day, and he'd like for it to be wrapped up by the time he went back to work. Shouldn't be too terrible. Besides, magical healing salves had this shit scarred over in hours. 

NOTE: the finished tattoo is on the link below, the one on his hands, to have an idea of what Max will be doing.

Permanent: Di's Tats

JUNIER of GS + Adox

Working as a Tattoo artist meant the Max met many teens who would come in for their first tattoo. That included Dion. Often he didn’t ask the meaning behind any ink but if he felt he need to ask, it was usually so he could distract the guy or girl getting the tattoo. That was of course, if they were very insistent on getting the ink. But overall, he didn’t ask for any story behind the design or phrase or date or whatever the customer was getting. Often though, he found many people talking to him freely and telling him why they were getting what they were getting. Even if Max had been in Ravenclaw once upon a time, he still resisted in asking because he knew that a lot of tattoos can be very personal and he was not one to nosey into someone else’s business. A fair amount of people also worked to conceal their tattoos. Max could understand why, if you worked in the ministry or as a professor at Hogwarts you wouldn’t want your boss or your students seeing your ink. Max would never choose to work in either of those locations. He of course would be able to work at Hogwarts, considering what he was. No head of the school would ever want to risk the students being face to face with a werewolf even in human form.

Still, he didn’t have to worry about that working here in the alley. It far from the most desirable place to work but Max didn’t complain about that. He was often left to his own devices and he was happy with that. ”That is very true, for every intelligent person out there, you have your idiot” Max commented in return. He had encountered his fair share of stupid or incompetent people in his life. No matter how much you tried to escape them, it was not always possible.

Max was working steadily on the design, it was intricate but then again it was a butterfly, an insect that was admired for it’s beauty as much as anything. He had tattooed a number of butterfly designs or those inspired by the insect in his days and in various parts of people’s bodies. But to have it divided enquiry on both hands was very smart he thought. It would look nice once it had healed on Dion. ”Well you never know, the ministry have come up with some pretty whack ideas over time. One of them could come in here under the guise of wanting some ink and the next minute I’m under scrutiny” Max knew talking like this made him sound very paranoid but he suppose a lot of werewolves were.

”Whoa there Romeo….I’m working here….you’ll get to your date soon enough” he chuckled and moved to begin to work on his other hand. The guy may or may not have had a date to get to or may he had work to get to, not that he was clear on what Dion did but he had some idea.