Will took a few moments, observing himself in the window. He was overall pleased with how he looked; he was big, strong, and intimidating. He could punch most men out easily, or so he thought. That Tony guy didn't stand a chance. Will looked down at the tattoo on his knuckles spelling out his name, W-I-L-L, as well as the flaming skull on his shoulder and the dagger on his forearm. A rugged look like his needed more ink. He knew of a place in town that stayed opened late. He could bike there easy. The thought of getting more ink on his skin made him feel giddy, or that could be the copious amounts of alcohol.
Will mounted his bike, finding that, unlike his clothes, it was now quite small for him. He had to hunch over and work hard to keep his balance. Luckily his belly had shrunk, or he might not have fit on the bike at all. It crossed his mind just how silly he probably looked on a preteen's bike. He didn't really feel like walking the whole way, though. He biked off toward the tattoo parlor, drunk and reveling in his adulthood.
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Sasha was in her room, lying atop her bed, her text book open in front of her, her homework untouched. She had been like that for the past few hours, staring with unseeing eyes at her schoolwork. Despite her attitude as a delinquent at school, she had begun to care more about her schoolwork as she matured. She had begun to make plans for the future and viewed her time with Will, Dave, and Ross to be more and more hindering. She had hoped to have broken it off with them by high school, but had trouble doing so. Now this whole thing with Will becoming an adult suddenly had her utterly confused, and a little scared. His actions toward her had been disgusting, but could she blame him so harshly? He still technically had the mind of a thirteen year old, and Will never thought stuff through. He didn't know what he was doing. No! She couldn't make excuses for him. No matter the context, what he had suggested was wrong! But, maybe there was room for redemption.
There was a knock on Sasha's door. Shaking herself from her contemplation, Sasha sat up straight and quickly scribbled some answers in on her worksheet.
"Come in," she said.
Her mother poked her head in. She was a middle-aged woman who had managed to keep a youthful figure and spirit. She had been worried about her daughter ever since she began hanging around with Will and company, and was relieved to see a positive turn in her study habits.
"Just checking in on you, sweetie," she said, noting Sasha's subtle expressions. She had noticed since her daughter had gotten home that evening that something had been wrong. She wanted to wait a little while before approaching, not wanting to bother her in case it was just nothing. "Get your homework done, soon. It's almost time for bed."
Sasha forced a smile at her mother. They had been through rough times in years past, but they had been getting along well recently and Sasha didn't want to throw things between them again. "Sure, Mom. I'll be done here soon."
Sasha's mother walked in the room and sat on the edge of her daughter's bed. She looked meaningfully at her, hoping to coax whatever was bothering her out. "Are you alright?" she asked. "How did things go at school today?"
Sasha shrugged. "Alright, I guess. I think I did well on my Science test. And I have and English paper due next Friday. I'm writing a report on 'Where the Red Fern Grows.'"
Her mother nodded. "That's good. But, nothing's the matter?"
Sasha feigned a confused expression. "No. Of course not. Why would anything be the matter?"
There was a moment of silence before Sasha's mother probed again. "It wasn't that senator's boy, was it? Did he do something? I told you not to hang around him anymore."
Sasha sighed, hoping it would put her mother off the topic. Her mother knew her too well. The last thing Sasha wanted to talk about was Will. "I don't really want to talk about it, Mom."
"Sasha, if he did something to you, you can tell me. I know when something bothers you, and it's almost always got to do with that boy. He's not good for you, you know."
"Mom, I REALLY don't want to talk about it," Sasha said, a little louder than she meant to. "I just want to finish my homework and go to bed. Alright?"
Her mother's brow creased. She was a little hurt by this, but she didn't press further. "Well, when you change your mind, I'll be listening." She knelt in and kissed her daughter's forehead, and left.
Sasha sighed and let herself fall backward onto her pillow. Why did things have to be so weird? Not normal weird, but impossible magic aging weird. Maybe she was dreaming. That would make sense. Maybe this was a delusion. What would that mean psychologically? Having a dream about your teenage boyfriend turning into an adult and hitting on you probably set off several red lights at a psychiatrist's office.
Sasha closed her eyes. No, this certainly didn't feel like a dream. What was she to do? She had better stuff to worry about: school, a career, a serious relationship. But, once again, Will had to do something stupid and take center stage in her life like the attention whore he was. Why was she compelled to fix his mistakes? Why did she even care anymore? If only he had just left that boy alone...
Wait! That boy! What was his name? Joey? Jimmy? Jake! If what he had said was true, then he could reverse whatever was happening. But, again, why did she care? Let Will get his due. If he kept aging like she had seen, then he would probably end up an old man at some point. Then, assuming Will actually figured out what was going on, he would beg Jake to make him normal again. There, problem solved. They didn't even need her.
Still, the issue nagged at the back of Sasha's mind. She found it impossible to focus on her work and eventually just went to bed. She'd finish it in Study Hall before class, where she might be able to focus more. Though, after Sasha turned out the light she could only lay and bed and worry about the events of the day.
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Stashing his bike in an alley where he was sure it was safe, Will walked into Jim's Tattoo Parlor, a small, somewhat grimy building in the seedy part of town, only a few blocks from Denim's Bar. The interior seemed cleaner, with it's black and red checkered floor and red painted walls. Though cramped, it was decorated, almost every surface had a frame filled with dozens of tattoo designs. In the corners of the room were a couple chairs next to tables with an assortment of tools displayed.
"Hey, there!" said a voice. "Can I help you, sir?"
Will looked to see a man walking out of a back room. He was slightly shorter than Will was now, something that Will was still getting used to. He had light brown hair that was long and pulled back in a ponytail. He had large mutton chops and a long chin beard that was braided into a tuft at the end. Will also noted the man was probably younger than he was, judging by looks alone. He wore a black t-shirt with a design that looked to belong on the cover of a death metal CD. Also, his arms were completely covered in tattoos of all colors, shapes and sizes..
"I, uh, I'm here for a tattoo," said Will, admiring the man's skin art.
The man smirked. "Well, you've certainly come to the right place. Got something in mind?"
Will realized he hadn't put any thought towards it, also he was still a little drunk. The man, seeing Will blank merely gestured to a wall. "We've got plenty of examples on display. When you make up your mind, let me know."
Will took a moment to look over some of the designs. He didn't want anything overly complicated, at least not yet. something simple that said "Badass," literally if it had to. Will then spotted a frame displaying wrap-around biceps tattoos, ranging from tribal, to barbed wire. In fact, Will was particularly interested in the barbed wire tattoo. It was simple and would look totally sick on his new pair of pythons. Yes, Will was still most certainly a thirteen year old on the inside.
"This one right here," Will said, pointing to the tattoo in the frame.
The tattoo artist, whose name was Frank, looked over Will's shoulder and nodded. "Good choice. We get that one a lot. Just give me a minute to set up and we'll get started."
Frank began loading his inks and prepping his needle. He had Will sit down at the chair, where Frank took a look at his left bicep where the tattoo would go. "Wow, you've got some hair here, guy," he said. He pulled out a razor and shaved the area smooth, before sketching the design on Will's bicep. As he did, he made small talk.
"I noticed this isn't your first tattoo," Frank said. "Where'd you get that dagger one? It looks nice."
"I... don't remember," Will said. The tattoo had appeared out of the blue. That was an interesting question, though. If pieces of art just appear, just who is the artist?
Frank made a face. "Really? Shame. It's not bad. What about the skull on your other arm?"
"I don't remember," Will said again. "I was pretty drunk that night."
Frank shook his head. "They did that in one night? Was it a local guy?"
Will resisted the urge to shrug, as Frank was still drawing on his arm. "I just don't remember."
"Alright, sorry, man," Frank said, finishing his drawing. "I think I'm about ready to start, anyway. Just stay still."
As Frank flipped his needle on, Will prepared himself for the pain that was often said to accompany tattoo application. To his surprise, Will barely felt a thing. Either he had toughened up to a point where he had a higher pain tolerance, or he was simple drunk enough not to feel it. In either case, Will settled in as he felt himself begin to drift off.
As Will fell asleep, Frank continued his work. He had been a little worried when Will first walked in. The man was big and a little scarred up, not to mention drunk. He felt the best thing to do was give him a tattoo and send him on his way. It was mostly men like Will who made there way there, but it was the drunk ones that usually caused some trouble. Will turned out to be fairly docile for the time being, so Frank wasn't worried now. Heck, he was too drunk to remember where he'd gotten his tats from, and that wasn't something you forgot lightly. Too many punches to the head, maybe?
Frank paused in his work, letting his hand rest. Maybe he could take a closer look at that skull tattoo as the man rested. Maybe there would be some artist's mark or something about the design he would recognize. Though, Frank couldn't find anything of the like. Not unusual. However, he did see a tattoo of a bullet below the skull that he didn't remember seeing before. In fact, there were several tattoos here that was was sure weren't there when the man walked in. Frank was a tattoo artist, after all. He noticed these things. Shaking it off as being late, Frank decided to get back to work and finish the tattoo. However, when he turned back to his work, he saw the barbed wire tattoo was now finished. Impossible! He knew for a fact there was no way he was finished yet. But, as he watched he could see a couple more tattoos inking themselves into existence on Will's skin, right before Frank's eyes.
Unbeknownst to Frank, Will's curse had taken hold again. Will was now aging from thirty-three to thirty-six, and adding some tattoos for good measure. Various tattoos of all colors, shapes, and designs appeared on Will's upper arms, forearms, shoulders, chest, and back. He wasn't as covered as Frank was, but enough to give Will an extra air of intimidation. A few more gray hairs appeared in Will's beard, mostly at the chin, but a smattering at his cheeks as well. Faint lines etched into his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His hair receded back only a little bit more, but kept its dark color. The hair that Frank had shaved on Will's bicep for the tattoo grew back normally. Will kept his thick physique with a paunch.
"Holy shit, man! What the fuck?" Frank exclaimed.
This woke Will, who sat up with a start. "What?" he asked, looking around.
"Is this some joke?" Frank asked, wide-eyed. "Is there a camera? How did you do that?"
"Do what?" Will asked. He looked at his bicep to check on his new tattoo and noticed all the new additions. "Whoa! What did you do?" Will asked.
Frank shook his head emphatically. "I didn't do any of that! Shit! What the fuck?!"
Will looked over and saw himself in a mirror. He looked the same as when he'd last seen his reflection in that window. Though, maybe his hairline was a little higher? Was there more grey in his beard? Had he gotten older again? That would explain the tattoos.
"Listen," said Frank, calming down slightly. "You're seriously freaking me out, here. I just... I can't..."
Will held his hand up, grinning despite himself. "Hey, no sweat. I'll just go now. Thanks..."
Frank just watched Will leave. Boy would he have a story...
As Will left the tattoo parlor, he couldn't help but look over his new tattoos. He was feeling more sober as well. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the extra forehead he had and the peninsula shape his hairline was making. He didn't feel any bald spots in back, but he couldn't tell if it was thinner or not. Just how old was he now. In his thirties, certainly. Not quite forty, yet. Yet. Just how much farther was this going to go? What triggered it?
Will went to the alley to retrieve his bike. Then a loud rumbling filled the air. A man riding a black, glossy motorcycle came roaring up to the tattoo parlor, parking in front of it. The man riding it got off, putting his kickstand down. He took off his helmet, hung it off the handles, and went inside.
Will couldn't help himself. He went up to the bike to admire it. It was a beauty, alright. What he wouldn't give to have one just like it. That's when he noticed the keys were still in the ignition. Will couldn't believe it. No biker in their right mind would leave their bike like this, unattended in this part of town with the keys sitting right there. But here it was.
Could he just take it? If they left it like this, they certainly didn't deserve to keep it. But what if he got caught? No risk without reward, right?
Will mulled over just what to do...