Full leg sleeve of colourful neo-traditional tattoos
Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo
A pair of legs from upper thigh to ankle, covered in bold tattoos. The owl, clock and clouds on the left thigh and the raven with pink roses on the right thigh are set against bare skin, with fox, rabbit, butterfly, scissors and balloon motifs running down the calves. The thick black outlines and saturated colour fills give a bold, graphic look, and the photo is taken from above against a dark stone wall and road.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The fair pulls out of Hexham before the rain does, and by half past five you are the one walking the verge with a torch in your teeth, counting rabbit hutches because Mr Corrie swears one went missing at the last stop. The balloon man has already gone, his gas cylinders knocking together in the back of his van. The raven stall is shuttered under a tarpaulin that smells of candyfloss and diesel, and the owl painted on the big wheel's gondola is the only thing awake to see you come.
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You find the rabbit in the old ghost train, sitting on a heap of plaster skulls as if it has booked a seat. Behind the cardboard tombstones is Nell, who sews the costumes for the lion tamer and wears her shears on a red ribbon at her waist. She is stitching a corset for the fortune teller and does not look up when you lift the rabbit by its ears. 'It came to me,' she says. 'Rabbits always go to whoever is leaving.' Her fox sleeps across her lap with its tail over her knee, and one amber eye opens to check on you.
She wants a favour in return. The balloon basket needs taking to the depot in Carlisle, where a man will pay her for a bundle of hand-sewn envelopes she says are worth more than the ride itself. You agree, though you suspect the envelopes are only paper. The rabbit rides in the passenger seat under a blanket. When you check the dashboard clock it reads nearly midnight, and behind you the fair is a long line of lights strung north across the moor.
At the depot the envelope has your name on it in her small, careful hand. Under it she has drawn a pair of shears, closed, and beneath them a clock with both hands pointing at the same minute. You fold the paper into your coat and go back out to the van, where the engine is still warm and the rabbit has fallen asleep.
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