<div class="floatleft">(https://images2.imgbox.com/86/71/qabzUuqc_o.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Karma (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=337984.msg16039378#msg16039378)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Black Lotus Tattoo --> Afterlife<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Katya, OPEN<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Conversation, Blood and Drinks<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>“This is going to sting.”<br/><br/>The warning had come some time ago, but it held true even more now than it had when initially given. The needles of the tattoo gun moved at a rate of over 100 times per second, depositing ink 1.5 to 2 millimeters underneath the client’s skin with every sweep of the needles over their skin. The hand holding the gun belonged to a master artist, expertly drawing out an intricate design while the gun let out a steady, buzzing hum. Back and forth the gun moved between the tiny cups of ink and the client’s arm as the artist worked on the tattoo, gradually filling in the outline with careful shading and masterfully blended color. In short order it was done, the excess ink and blood was wiped away, the skin disinfected, and the newly minted artwork was covered with a dermabandage. It only took a few more minutes to transfer the eddies into the artist’s account, and the client was on his merry way with a shiny new piece of ink.<br/><br/>It was the last client of the night. Now all Karma had to do was clean up their station and the rest of the evening was theirs. That is, until the perimeter alarm was triggered, and the security system pulled up a warning on the nearest terminal, showing where the breach had occurred. The basement. Karma had a<em>lot </em>of high-end equipment in the basement, where they practiced their true artform – specialized cybernetic surgery for just about anyone that could afford their fees. So, even in a case like this one, where entry to the building had been acquired through an authorized access code, Karma was vigilant. The code was bio-keyed and linked to the codes in the cyberware of the person that had used it, specifically designed by the good doctor themselves. As such, it was highly secure. There was only one other person besides Karma with a code, and though highly unlikely, it was still possible that the code could be taken from her with a good enough hacker. Coupled with a very specific part of her cyberware, it would be possible to gain access to the clinic, and the inventory of cyber, bioware and dermal implants waiting to be installed. The street value would set up someone for years.<br/><br/>Consequently, Karma was cautious as they abandoned the tattoo station and made their way down the stairs to the surgical suite with the light from above at their back, pausing only to pick up the GENJIROH HJKE-11 Yukimura along the way, just in case things went south. Their footsteps were soft on the stairs as they padded cautiously down them, eyes glowing green in the low light, picking up every detail. Blood and rainwater on the floor, the stain of whatever was out on the streets tonight, the sight of a familiar jacket on the operating table, it’s owner standing at the counter on the far side of the room, and the smell of coffee brewing in the pot. Karma lowered the weapon in their hand, long fingers engaging the safety as they stepped into the room.<br/><br/>Karma was tall and lithe, dressed in synth leather that clung to their body, pants and a jacket with some kind of tight fitting shirt beneath it, all in a shade of black that somehow reflected shades of green back when the light hit it. Their long hair was braided tight to their skull on the sides, falling down over their shoulders in a fall of inky layers that brushed high cheekbones. “Katya,” they said simply, voice soft and low, a warm mixture of whiskey and honey.<br/><br/>Their gaze followed Katya’s movements as the chip was laid out on the counter, listening to her recount the details of her evening. “You’re hurt,” they said, after nodding to acknowledge the amount. Karma had not insisted that the woman repay her for the reconstruction of her body, but understood Katya’s need to do so.<br/><br/>A smile pulled at one corner of the Ripperdoc’s mouth at Katya’s assessment of the coffee’s quality, as well as what the woman was really saying. Over the years they’d known each other, the two of them had developed a rather unique way of communicating that others rarely understood. “That’s because it’s real,” Karma told her with a wry smirk. “You’ve drunk synthjava for so long you can’t appreciate the smell of the real thing.” Crossing to the counter, the doctor switched off the coffee maker, now that its cycle was finished, and then quickly pocketed the payment chip. “And yes, I’d love a drink.”<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Karma followed Katya into Afterlife once they’d been waived in, assuming that Katya would follow unless a fellow merc waved her over. The doctor didn’t spend a large amount of time at the bar but showing up there was good for business – tattoos as well as their real work – so they tried to get there at least once or twice a month. The bar was loud, already filled with some of the regulars, but it was the best place to order a drink. After that they’d find a table and camp out.<br/><br/>“Hey, Doc. Long time no see,” Claire said when Karma approached the bar. “What’re you having?”<br/><br/>“Yuzu sour, please,” the doctor replied.<br/><br/>“You want synthsake or the real stuff?<br/><br/>“You know I want the real stuff,” Karma said, eyeing the bartender. “Real yuzu, too.”<br/><br/>“I know, I know, I shouldn’t even ask anymore,” Claire replied. “I’m just never sure with the solos, ya know? If they have a bad week, they don’t wanna spend the eddies.”<br/><br/>“I hear that,” Karma replied.<br/><br/>“And for you?” Claire asked Katya.<br/>