Black and grey realism tattoo of a large skull with two figures in ruffled collars, champagne glasses and a bottle in ice, on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Skull with two figures on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A large skull fills the upper arm, with two figures in ruffled collars and a jester-style hat set within its eye and nasal areas. Below them sit champagne glasses, a bottle in an ice bucket and a chair, all drawn with soft shading and fine detail. The piece is rendered entirely in black and grey ink against a dark background that frames the skull.

Realism Upper arm Skull Bottle Woman Man

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Jessamy and Oddo had been dealt the last two places at the Widow's table, which was a thing nobody in Brackenhythe admitted to wanting. The table stood in the cellar beneath the old fishmonger's, and the Widow kept her chairs warm with wine nobody had poured. Oddo wore his ruff starched stiff with flour paste, and Jessamy had painted her cheeks white so the cold could not see she was frightened.

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The Widow had a bottle standing in a bucket of melting ice, and she said the first to finish a glass would keep his face. Oddo laughed and drank. Jessamy watched the bubbles climb and counted them, the way her mother counted stitches. Glass after glass went down, and each time the Widow leaned closer, her teeth showing in a grin that had no lips to hold it.

Jessamy noticed the chair beside the Widow was empty and newly cut, its legs still pale as bread. Oddo, by his third glass, had started to peer at the candle through his own fingers. She stood, lifted her glass, and poured the wine slowly onto the flagstones, where it hissed and ran toward the drain. "Tell me the rule again," she said. The Widow said the rule was that one face must go. Jessamy said a face was owed only if a debt had been drunk, and she had drunk nothing.

The Widow laughed until the candles guttered, but she could not argue with a rule she had written herself. She let them go at dawn. Oddo came up the fishmonger's steps with his ruff gone limp and a streak of white across his brow where the cold had touched him. Jessamy never drank a toast again, and in Brackenhythe they still say the one who refuses the wine is the only one who ever leaves the table standing.