//------------------------------// // Tattoos and Tempers // Story: The Last Crusade // by CyborgSamurai //------------------------------// Chapter 2: Tattoos and Tempers I stood there for a minute just staring at the cutie mark. It was vividly colored, the artwork exact down to the very last detail. No blurred colors or lines, no reddened skin, and it wasn’t tender at all when I poked it. The pink heart was stylized like the G3 one, with the silver bell hanging on a curled metal wire. I checked my other thigh, and sure enough the exact same mark was there, too. My first reaction was shock, of course. You always think it’s funny when you see people getting drunk and waking up with tattoos in movies, but to actually have it happen to you? Not so much. I didn’t appreciate that the guys had let me go and get a tattoo when I was blasted, and to make matters worse, my inebriated mind had decided that the cutie mark of Sweetie Belle was a good choice? What the hell, brain, what the hell. I took a washcloth and scrubbed at the mark. I didn’t really expect it to work, but I wanted to be thorough in what I tried. I’d have felt pretty stupid if I started panicking and it turned out it was just a slap-on tattoo you could get at the fair or something. Scrubbing at it didn’t work, though, so I put the washcloth away and just stared at it some more, as if I could just will the things to disappear. Nope, still there. Crap. I wanted answers on how this happened. I wanted to know why the guys didn’t stop me. I wanted some freaking aspirin for this stupid hangover. Most of all, though, I wanted that shower. I'd every intention of reaming out my friends, but I wasn’t going to do it while smelling like a hobo. Yes, clean up first, angry rant second. Priorities are important. *** I stepped out of the bathroom a half hour later with my towel slung over my shoulder. The shower had rejuvenated me, and the warm water had calmed my temper and cleared my mind. A semblance of rational thought had returned, and I realized that seeing as these tattoos didn’t hurt at all and there was no sign of irritation around them, they couldn’t have been done with a needle. They had to be some kind of special prank tattoos, which was exactly the kind of stupid crap Dylan invested in. All I had to do was get him to tell me how to remove the things and everything would be fine. I found Dylan sprawled out on the twin bed in Phil’s spare bedroom. The pillow was wet from the copious amount of drool seeping out of his mouth. He hadn’t even bothered to pull the blankets over himself. I poked him in the small of the back and cleared my throat. “Hey, Dylan. Wake up.” Dylan mumbled something unintelligible. He covered his head and curled up into the fetal position. A smile tugged at my lips. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who drank too much last night. I normally might’ve let him sleep, but I wasn’t in a gracious mood. “Dylan!” I swatted him with my towel. “Get up! The prank’s over!” “Keep your voice dowwwwwn.” Dylan’s voice was feeble and scratchy. He cracked open a bloodshot eye and stared blearily at me. “What are you on about?” I lowered my voice to an icy whisper. “The little surprises you left me on my thighs last night, funny boy. Tell me how to get them off.” “I wouldn’t touch your thighs if you paid me,” Dylan said as he gingerly sat up. “Well, mayyyyybe I would, but I warn you, I’m not a cheap date.” “Cut the act!” I pulled down the side of my pants to show him the cutie mark. “I know you did this!” Dylan’s eyes went wide. “Holy... is that a tattoo?!” He leaned in closer to get a better look. “When’d you—ugh, really? A pink heart and a bell? That’s like, the girliest thing you could possibly get.” A sliver of doubt wormed its way into my mind. Being friends with a person for a long time means that you pick up on the things they mean, and not just the things they say. I watched him carefully as he squinted at the cutie mark, then looked up at me in bewilderment. “When'd you get this?” I didn’t reply at first. Instead I sat down on the bed and looked Dylan in the eye. “Be straight with me. What happened last night?” Of course, Dylan could read me the same way. and the subtle tremor in my voice and tensed posture may as well have been flashing neon signs to him. Dylan scratched his head. “I don’t really remember much. You fell asleep a little before midnight from drinking too much. Mike laid you down on the couch, and we played games until Phil had to go to work. Mike turned in after that, and I think I watched a movie or something before I came in here and crashed.” I sucked on my teeth. That certainly sounded normal, but it didn’t account for a pair of tattoos suddenly appearing on my body. There had to be something more. Dylan shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Um, not to interrupt your impending freak out or anything, but can you gimme a sec? I really gotta pee.” I sighed and dismissed him with a wave of my hand. He got up and bolted out of the room in a flash. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples as I heard the bathroom door slam. My headache had migrated to rest just behind my eyes, and I was starting to feel nauseous. I had to focus right now, though, so I did my best to ignore it. The last time I saw my lower body was when I’d taken a shower the previous day. During that time I’d gone to work, come straight here, and hung out with the guys all night. The only unaccounted for time period was when I was sleeping on the couch, which meant that I’d had to have gotten the tattoos then. If Dylan didn’t have anything to do with it, then it had to have been either Phil or Mike, and— “AAAHHH!” I opened my eyes. That had definitely come from Dylan. What, did he drop the toilet seat on his junk or something? I was about to get up and go check on him when I heard the bathroom door open. He walked back into the room, and before I could say anything, he turned and pulled down the side of his jeans. On his thigh was Scootaloo’s cutie mark: a pink and orange butterfly. Wait, scratch that, a hornet. No, wait, butterfly! Hornet! Butterfly! Hornet! Argh! It was hard to tell because it was so stylized! The fandom had had endless debates on what Scootaloo’s cutie mark was, and there were arguments for and against both parties. The G3 Scootaloo had a butterfly cutie mark, that much was certain, but the G4 version had curled antennae, a stinger, and gave off the impression of speed. Whoever did this tattoo must’ve been a diehard fan, though, because even I couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. “I’ve got the same thing on the other thigh.” Dylan gave me a level stare. “Neither of them were there yesterday.” I clucked my tongue. “T’would appear we’ve been bamboozled.” “By who, though?” Dylan leaned up against the wall. “Mike went to bed before me, and Phil had already gone to work. There’s no one else that could’ve done it.” “Maybe it was some kind of delayed thing?” I knew I was grasping at straws, but I didn’t know what else to think. “You know more about practical joke stuff than I do. Is there a kind of ink that doesn’t show up for a few hours?” Dylan chewed on his lip. “Yeah, but you still need to apply it directly to the skin. I’m pretty sure we would’ve felt someone putting something on me throughout the day yesterday.” “Which means it had to have happened when we were both asleep,” I said. “And Phil was already gone at work, so...” “So it had to have been Mike,” Dylan finished for me. “He pretended to go to bed, waited until I came in here, then inked us both. Damn, I’m actually kinda impressed.” I tapped my right thigh.“What impresses me more is that he managed to get his hands on Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo tattoos. Not sure why he’d waste something MLP-related on you, but maybe they were on sale or something.” “Wait, this is a pony thing?!” Dylan groaned. “Ugh, I’m not impressed anymore.” I snickered. Truth be told, now that the initial shock had worn off my biggest gripe was that Mike hadn’t run this by me before doing it. I would’ve had some fun with them if he’d just given them to me. Now I’d have to go and buy my own. Maybe I could ask him what website he got them from. Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “Alright, now that we’ve established the culprit, we need to decide how we wanna get back at him.” I smirked evilly. “We could—” Our diabolical plans were interrupted by the loud slam of the front door, followed by the angry roar of a fearsome beast. “DYLAN! I’M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!” I felt my stomach tighten. I looked over at Dylan, who didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, then walked out the door. I followed suit, hoping that I could diffuse whatever the issue was. Phil stomped up the stairs and turned to see us standing in the hallway. He zoned in on Dylan and put his hands on his hips. “What made you think giving me a tattoo in permanent marker was a good idea, huh?! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get off? I was trying all night and I couldn’t even make the colors bleed!” Dylan stiffened. I gasped through clenched teeth. We both exchanged a glance before I spoke up. “Uh, Phil, where exactly is this tattoo?” Phil turned to his side and pulled down his pants. There on his thigh was Babs Seed’s cutie mark: a bisected apple with three seeds, two brown, one white. The skin around the marks was red and irritated, but that made sense if he’d been trying to wash them off. “This is probably the most random thing you’ve ever done,” Phil said to Dylan. “I don’t even want to know why you thought it was a good idea to break into my house, but I—” Phil’s tirade was ended prematurely by Dylan and I both showing him the colorful additions to our own bodies. His posture slackened and his mouth went agape. “Buh?” I couldn’t help but laugh a little, though it was partially due to relief that there wasn’t about to be an argument. The less shouting that happened right now, the faster my headache would go away. “We think it was Mike,” Dylan said. “Well, it had to have been him, seeing as we both got ours when we were sleeping. When’d you notice yours?” “Around three.” Phil went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of apple juice. “I figured you’d snuck in here while I was sleeping yesterday afternoon and put it on me then. Guess that theory’s out the window.” “Not necessarily,” I said. Dylan shot me a questioning look, but I held up a hand. “It’s possible Mike did exactly that. What time did he get here yesterday?” Phil downed his glass and wiped his mouth. “Not long after I woke up, actually. I didn’t even hear his car pull in.” “Does he have a key?” I asked. Phil hesitated, then slowly lowered his head into a facepalm. “Yeah, he does.” “There ya go.” I stroked a non-existent goatee. “Our little mystery has been solved.” Phil rubbed the back of his head and smiled apologetically at Dylan. “My bad.” “You can apologize by giving me some of that juice.” Dylan licked his lips. “I’m freaking parched.” I took assessment of the situation while Phil got Dylan another glass. This was quite the scheme Mike had pulled, and it certainly had caught us all off-guard. I couldn’t really blame Phil for assuming that Dylan had done it, seeing as that’d been my first thought, too. It was going to take something big to top this, but between the three of us, I figured we could come up with something good. I looked over at Phil. “Dylan and I were just about to start coming up with ideas on how we can get back at him. Anything come to mind?” Phil shook his head. “He’s just gonna try and top it if we retaliate. All I wanna know is how to get these things off and be done with it.” “Aww, that’s no fun!” Dylan finished off his glass and jutted out his lower lip. “Mike went through all the trouble of buying these tattoos, then sneaking around and carefully putting them on us! We owe it to him to get him back!” I raised an eyebrow. “That would be what we call ‘twisted logic.’” “No, it’s Dylan logic!” He stopped to think about that a second, then shrugged and put out his cigarette. “So yeah, basically the same thing.” There was a jingling of keys as Phil swept his off of the counter. “Mike never answers his phone while he’s at work. I wanna know how to get these off before I go to bed, so I’m gonna go to Spades now.” Spades was the local casino where Mike worked part-time as a valet. The rest of his time was dedicated to working for his family doing things like woodcutting, gardening, planting, harvesting, feeding animals... basically whatever they needed him to do. His hope was that he’d be able to scrape enough money together to get a farm of his own someday, but good land wasn’t cheap, and his family couldn’t afford to give him any. I’d warned him he was gonna be in for a hard time if he followed this path, but he’d insisted it was what he wanted to do. “I guess I’ll come with you.” I looked over at Dylan. “Coming?” Dylan mulled it over. He poured himself one more glass of juice, downed it, then slammed the glass down on the table with a grunt. “Exposure to lots of colors and noise with a hangover, yes! Hard mode, engage!” I cringed. “Urgh, This is gonna suck.” “I think he’s working hotel side today.” Phil said as he opened the door. “There isn’t much noise there.” We made our way outside and over to Phil’s car. There was a brief dispute over who got shotgun, but a game of rock-paper-scissors left me sitting in the backseat. As we went on our way, I noticed both Dylan and Phil had let their hair grow out. It was halfway down their necks, which may not seem like much, but it was the longest I’d ever seen them have it. Phil’s hair was combed straight like usual, but Dylan’s was a disheveled mess. Their hair also seemed fuller somehow, maybe shinier? Nah. It had to just be a trick of the light. The monotony of traveling caused my thoughts to wander back to the dream I’d had. I was surprised I still remembered most of it. Usually I only remembered vague flashes from my dreams, but this one I still could recall down to the letter. It certainly wasn’t anything like the show, well, maybe a little like the series finale, but I wouldn’t consider that a good thing. Discord had said something about the siblings of the Element Bearers being a possible threat to him, which made sense in a way. It was never explained what made each Bearer so perfect for their respective Elements, but I’d always thought it was a combination of genetics, culture, location, and upbringing. If that was true, then the siblings of the Bearers probably had some kind of connection, magic, or hidden power they could tap into. It probably wasn’t enough to wield the Elements, but it might be enough to cause problems for Discord. “What are you humming back there, Mage?” Phil’s voice snapped me out of my musings. I turned away from the window and saw his eyes focused on me in the rear view. “Huh? Oh, just random notes. You know how much I like the sound of my own voice.” Phil snorted. “Remind me why you dropped out of choir again?” I laughed bitterly. “Same reason Dylan dropped out of track, I imagine. The teacher was a jerk.” “Objection!” Dylan raised his left hand in the air. “He and I were both jerks. He told me I didn’t have the stamina to do the four hundred meter dash, and I told him to go perform coitus with himself.” The statement caused something to click in my mind. “So that’s why you had to scrape gum off the school bleachers every day after school for a week! I always wondered about that.” “You shouldn’t have quit, Mage,” Phil said before I could get off topic. “You’ve always had a good singing voice. I remember you really enjoyed it in middle school.” I felt a pang of guilt. There was a story there that I’d never told the guys about. I still didn’t want to tell them, but I knew Phil wasn’t gonna let it go. I let out a heavy sigh and tried to keep my voice neutral. “I did, but I don’t appreciate being passed over for solos because my parents aren’t on the school board.” When a guy whose voice sounds like a dying cat is given a solo not once, not twice, but three consecutive times, you know something fishy’s going on. My complaints fell on deaf ears, though, as did everyone else’s. I suppose I could’ve gone higher and told the district or something, but then I would’ve been the guy who raised a huge fuss that started an investigation or something. “Say what?!” Dylan turned around to look at me. “You never told us about that!” I looked down at my hands. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t know how deep the corruption ran, and it was hard juggling drama performances, choir concerts and fencing lessons. I wanted to have an open period so I could have a study hall, so I decided it was best to just wash my hands of the whole thing and move on. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Phil asked. Because it was a really sore spot for me. Yes, I loved singing, yes, I was good at it, and yes, there was a time when I’d seriously thought about making it into a career, but the whole experience had seriously jaded my outlook for the future. If favoritism and bribery were already happening at the high school level, what was waiting for me higher up? It was better to recognize the problem and get out early before I either found myself stuck, or wound up just as dirty as the rest of them. “I don't want to talk about it,” I said in a faint voice. I expected Phil and Dylan to needle me or give me some kind of guilt trip following that, but strangely, it never came. The awkward silence caught me by surprise, and I looked up to see that both of them had honored my wish. Dylan had turned back around, and Phil had switched on the radio. I almost said something more, but pride kept my tongue at bay. I was forced to sleep in the bed I’d made, so I put my head against the window and fell into a light doze. *** I’ve never liked casinos. They’re loud, they’re expensive, the cigarette smoke hangs in the air like a cancerous fog, and most of all, the games are completely and utterly boring. I can see why a lot of people are into them, but when you play video games that have you slaying eldritch monsters with mystical godlike powers on a regular basis, making a bunch of shapes line up together doesn’t do much for you. The casino was a massive complex. On top of having several game floors, it also housed a convention center, an arcade, a bowling alley, several restaurants, and other attractions just waiting to suck in the hapless tourist. One might think that finding Mike would be difficult in such a huge place, but we’d all been here several times before, and even if we hadn’t, all we’d need to do was flag down an employee, point to Phil and say, "family." We pulled into the parking lot and went around to the hotel side. Dylan remarked that it’d be funny if we got Mike to park the car for us, and while I agreed, Phil pointed out that wasn’t what we were here for. We skimped out on the shenanigans and just went straight to the valet desk. We asked for Mike, who came walking out a minute later with a look of pleasant surprise. Huh, Mike was letting his hair grow out, too. That... was weird. “Hey, guys!” He smiled at us. “Here to do some gambling? I...” His voice died when he saw our folded arms and unamused stares. Phil wasted no time in cutting to the chase. “Very funny. Now tell us how to get them off.” Mike cocked his head. “Get what off?” “Don’t play dumb,” Phil snapped. “We know it was you.” “You’ve really gotta learn how to cover your tracks,” Dylan said. Mike’s lips parted and he squinted one of his eyes. “What are you guys talking about?” I brushed my hair out of my face. “You were the only one in the house last night after Dylan and I went to bed. You're the only one who has a key to Phil’s place. There’s no one else it could’ve been, so just admit it already.” Mike frowned. “If you’re going to accuse me of something, you need to tell me what it is so I can explain myself. Coming in here and getting in my face about whatever you think I did isn’t going to solve anything.” Remember when I said Mike’s the most laid back guy you’ll ever meet? This is what I meant. Seeing him hold to that re-voiced the thought that pulling a prank like this was completely unlike him, and a new suspicion wormed its way into my mind. I needed somewhere to confirm it, though, so I started looking around for a private place. I found that there was a men’s room to our left. “We’ll do better than tell you,” I said. “Follow me.” I walked inside the bathroom. I was currently empty, which I was quite grateful for. I waited until the guys came in, then turned to my side and revealed my cutie mark. “Did you do this?” I asked Mike calmly. Mike blinked several times. He stared at it for a few seconds, then smacked his lips and gave a simple, decisive response. “Nope.” I gave Dylan a meaningful look. He got the hint and dropped trou. “What about this?” I said. Mike exhaled out his nose and rubbed his upper lip. “Nuh-uh.” I gestured to Phil, who followed suit. “And this?” Mike let out a low whistle. “All three of you? Damn, when’d you—wait, ‘tell us how to get them off?’ Oh, no, no, no. I didn’t have anything to do with this! What makes you think I did?” “Hold on to that,” I said before Phil or Dylan could cut in. “I’ve one more question. Did you take a shower this morning?” Mike bit his lip. “I didn’t, actually. I overslept and just barely made it to work on time as it was.” I took a deep breath and made a vague circling gesture at my groin. “When was the last time you checked this area of yourself?” Mike raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Yesterday, I think? Definitely when I took a shower at home, so probably around twenty four hours.” I pointed to one of the stalls. “Indulge us, please.” Mike looked between the three of us. Dylan was intrigued, Phil was wary, and I was wearing a poker face. Mike’s a pretty cooperative guy, so it almost certainly meant he was trying to hide something if he refused my request. If he obliged, then it probably meant he was just as confused as we were. Mike went into the stall and closed the door behind him. There was the sound of a zipper being pulled down, the shuffling of clothes, and then, a sharp gasp. The stall door opened, and Mike stood there in his boxers while turned to the side. On his thigh was what I’d already suspected: Apple Bloom’s cutie mark, a pink apple blossom with six petals and bright yellow stigma. I facepalmed. “Que carajo...” “Wait, Mike’s got one, too?” Dylan laughed. “Oh, man! This keeps getting better and better!” “You’ve no idea.” Phil was facing the bathroom mirror.  “Look.” I turned, and abruptly found that my friends weren’t the only ones in need of a haircut. My normally short, straight brown hair had grown into a soft, thick mullet with wavy curls. I ran a hand through it, and felt a sudden urge to twirl a lock of it through my fingers. “Whoa!” Dylan dashed to the mirror. “Who slipped us the hair growth formula?” “There’s no such thing,” I said. Though I wasn’t so sure anymore. Phil tugged at his hair as if it were a wig. “Well, how else did our hair get like this? It’s not like hair suddenly gets this long overnight by itself!” Dylan suddenly stopped looking in the mirror and slowly turned to me. “Mage, are Phil and Mike’s tattoos from ponies, too?” I nodded. “Babs Seed and Apple Bloom. We’re all sporting the marks of the Cutie Mark Crusaders.” “Wait, what?” Phil rounded on me. “You know what these things are?!” I absentmindedly kept twirling my fingers through my hair. It was oddly soothing for some reason. “What they are? Yes. How we got them? Not a clue.” “Oh, really?” Dylan crossed his arms. “I find that hard to believe. You were the first one to notice these things, after all.” “When would I have time to do this?” I sat down on the bathroom counter, which I immediately regretted as a puddle of water seeped into my pants. “I fell asleep last night before all of you!” Phil narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any way to confirm that?” I felt my temper rise, but I kept it in check. Phil was only like this when he’d been awake for too long, or hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours. I knew this because we went to one of those lock-ins where you don’t eat the whole time, and he was an absolute nightmare by the end of it. My guess was that he was suffering from the effects of having his sleep schedule flip-flopped so often. I got off the counter and looked Phil dead in the eye. “No, I don’t, but what I do have is my word. I swear to you that I did not have anything to do with these pranks in any way, shape, or form. It’s true that I know that these marks are from My Little Pony, but that’s all I know.” Phil’s eyes softened. He looked away and rubbed the bridge of his nose. I now saw there were dark bags under his eyes. How long had he been living like this? It couldn’t have been healthy, but graveyard shifts do tend to have higher pay, and he did have a house payment to worry about... Dylan smirked. “Do you also give us your word as a Spaniard?” I tried to hide my grin. “It depends. How many Spaniards have you known?” “Eh, not very many.” Dylan winked at me. “Though there was this one guy who was looking for someone with six—” “Focus, children.” Mike went to the sink and washed his hands. “I believe you, Mage, but you have to admit this is pretty weird. The four of us get the tattoos of characters from a show that only you watch on the same day you come to visit us? Who else could’ve done it?” I threw up my arms. “Communists, aliens, Atlanteans, Mormons, tattoo gnomes, democrats, the Chicago Bulls, Lauren Faust, penguins, Batman... all I can guess is that it was probably the same person who messed with our hair. I’m a Business Analyst, Mike, not a detective.” “You gotta watch out for those tattoo gnomes, man,” Dylan said with utmost seriousness. “They have teeth like knives and will swarm you like piranha. They can fully ink a man in nine point-three seconds, and the only thing that keeps them away is a dreamcatcher strung with year-old shoelaces coated in whale snot.” Mike ignored him and dried off his hands. “I have to get back to work. I’ll head back over to Phil’s after I get off to help you guys figure this out. When are you leaving, Mage?” “Sunday night.” It was currently late Saturday morning, so we had a day and a half to figure this out. I figured I might as well stay at Phil’s house if we were gonna convene there anyway... assuming he still let me, that is. I turned to Phil and folded hands behind my back. “Is it okay if I’m at your house until then?” A surprised look flashed across his face. “Why would you even ask that?” Because we’d just had a disagreement, and so I felt it proper to observe formalities as a gesture of humility. It looked like Phil had misinterpreted my intentions, though. “I’ll stick around, too,” Dylan said. “We can catch up while Phil catches some z’s.” I nodded and blew a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Phil yawned and gestured to the exit. “Let’s go.”