Traditional style tattoo of a BB-8 style droid in orange and grey with teal flowers, on the forearm.

BB-8 droid with teal flowers on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A rounded droid with a dome head, a single dark eye and orange and grey panels sits at the centre, with a small antenna on top. Two teal five-petal flowers with dark leaves frame the sides, drawn with bold black outlines and flat colour with light grey shading on the droid's body. The tattoo is photographed straight on against pale skin and tiled flooring.

Traditional Forearm Droid Flower Leaf Robot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in Holm Cross believed me about the ball until Mrs Tennant's goat walked into the bakehouse with a dent in its side. I had found the thing at the forest edge that April, where the bracken gives way to the old beech stumps. It was round as a bread crock and cold as a well stone, with a single dark eye set in its dome and a stub of aerial bobbing on top like a hat pin. When I touched it, it hummed, turned itself a full circle, and looked at me as if I were late.

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I carried it home in my apron because my father said the forest took what it liked and gave back only what it wanted. He was a wheelwright and distrusted anything that did not need greasing. But the thing needed nothing. It rolled along the kitchen flags on its own, orange panels flashing like marigold cloth, and wherever its shadow crossed the floor a stem pushed up through the cracks. By the third week there were teal flowers in the washtub, five petals each, with black leaves curling beneath like burnt paper.

The village wanted it gone. Mr Hollis brought a pitchfork, and the droid rolled between his boots and hooted at him, a rising noise like a kettle thinking. Father said we would take it back to the beeches at dusk, so we did, the two of us with a barrow and the lamp swinging. At the tree line it stopped, turned its eye towards the dark trunks, and then towards me. I think it was asking. I said, 'Go on, then,' and it went, and the path behind it bloomed in a long teal ribbon all the way to the first oak.

Mr Hollis still grumbles about the hay. But every spring, when the bracken comes up, I walk to the tree line with a pocketful of seed and leave a little for whatever comes rolling back out of the trees.