Colour tattoo on a forearm of a blue TARDIS police box above the word Geronimo in black lettering, with a red fez and bow tie, on a loose watercolour splash.

TARDIS and Geronimo on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A blue TARDIS police box sits above the word GERONIMO in thin black capitals, with a small red fez and red bow tie added near the lettering. The box has solid blue shading and white detail, set against a loose splash of pink, red and light blue ink that fades out at the edges. The composition is centred on the forearm, with the design filling most of the frame against a blurred teal background.

Lettering Forearm Tardis Police box Lettering Bow tie Splash

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Palais had been shut since the spring, so Dolly Pratt nearly dropped her torch when she found a blue box standing in the ballroom, right where the raffle prizes had been stacked. Its lamp was on. Someone had painted the windows white and the door a shade of blue that made her think of the sea before a storm. She checked the lock twice, then pushed the door, and it opened onto the smell of Brylcreem and wet cardboard.

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A man stepped out of the gloom in a red fez and a bow tie that had been tied by somebody in a hurry. He looked at her, then at the gramophone in the corner, and said he'd been told this was the best floor in the south. Dolly told him it was closed. He said closed was only a word, and that the box was bigger on the inside, which she did not believe until he held the door and she looked past him at a corridor lined with silver rails and a sky full of stars. He asked her to dance. The record was already turning, a slow foxtrot with a crackle in it, and the walls seemed to lean in and blur at the edges like paint bleeding into water.

They danced until the needle lifted. When he said he had to go, she asked where. He grinned and said anywhere with a floor worth standing on, then took a run at the stage edge and shouted "Geronimo!" as he leapt, the fez tipping off his head and rolling under the piano. The box hummed, shrank into a single blue thread of light, and was gone.

The manager found the fez the next morning, dusty and perfectly dry, and a scorch mark on the boards shaped like a bow tie. Dolly kept the fez on her dresser for forty years. Every Friday, when the band struck up, she still tapped her foot in time with a rhythm nobody else in the hall could hear.