Nouveau Tattoo Pt. 01 - Cynthia

Taylor smiled, and said "Not that you can tell with what I'm wearing, but I don't either!"

Cynthia's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Thom grinned mischievously and gave Taylor a playful nudge. "Come on, you just need to find the right cause, like Cynthia here," he said teasingly. Taylor laughed, a bit nervously, and playfully swatted him away. Cynthia sensed a hint of tension between Taylor and Thom. Taylor reacted like this is not the first time this has come up.

Getting serious again, Thom and Taylor exchanged a glance before Taylor spoke, her tone sincere yet firm. "We need to be upfront with you, Cynthia. For a goal like $100,000, we're talking about creating something truly remarkable, a significant piece. Like, more than a pair of sleeves, if that reference makes any sense to you?"

Cynthia nodded, taking this in, she knew what a sleeve was, and they were saying this could be more than having both her arms covered in tattoos?

Thom continued, "And if the donations exceed that, which we're aiming for, and you agree to take the excess amounts above the goal, we'd be talking about major coverage."

Cynthia sat there, the term 'major coverage' echoing in her mind. She understood the words he was saying, but the magnitude of it was still sinking in.

Thom looked at her intently. "Do you understand what that means, Cynthia? It's a big commitment."

Cynthia met his gaze, the seriousness of the situation clear in her eyes. She nodded solemnly, a silent acknowledgment of the journey she was about to embark on.

"We'll need you to sign some releases," Taylor said, handing over the paperwork. "And we asked you to bring a bikini for the photoshoot. It's important for our patrons to see who the canvas will be. It also helps us in planning the design."

Cynthia changed into her bikini in a small changing room, feeling a wave of vulnerability as she exposed herself to the camera. Thom and Taylor seemed professional, explaining why this was a part of the process, but the reality of exposing her body to the world, even for a cause she passionately believed in, was daunting.

In the privacy of the back of the studio Thom clicked away with the camera, capturing various angles as Cynthia tried to mask her nervousness with a tentative smile. The realization of what major coverage could entail - the expanse of skin that might soon be adorned with art - was a thought that scared her.

After the photoshoot, she dressed again and signed the contract for the tattoo, her hand steady but her mind swirling with thoughts and what-ifs. The three of them spent a few moments picking out photographs from the shoot for the campaign.

"Taylor and I will film a short video explaining the campaign and your cause, with some of these pictures to show who you are. We will go live with the campaign tonight or tomorrow!" Thom said with enthusiasm.

Taylor shook Cynthia's hand, her eye contact was warm, and she held Cynthia's gaze a a few moments, and then said, "Good luck Cynthia, this is our first campaign. We don't know how well it will work. But I sincerely hope we can save that land."

Cynthia left Nouveau Tattoo with a surreal feeling, still half-convinced that raising $100,000 was a far-off dream. Yet, as she stepped out into the street, a part of her couldn't help but feel excited about the possibilities. This was about saving precious and sensitive land, and keeping her charity out of financial ruin. But, as she walked to her car, she was confronted by the sobering thought of what she was agreeing go through in order to to earn that money.

----

Three weeks had passed since Cynthia's visit to Nouveau Tattoo, and with the deadline for the land sale fast approaching, her hope that the money could be raised had dwindled to a mere flicker. Cynthia had more or less given up on the "Tattooed for a Cause" idea. The whole concept of it seemed more absurd every day.

She continued exploring other ideas, hitting up, sometimes for a second or third time, other organizations and known philanthropists. She managed a few more thousand dollars, but it was nowhere near enough. She had resigned herself to the sad reality that the acres and home to the rare ferns would soon be lost under the merciless tracks of bulldozers, as well as the deposit money they could not afford to lose. As she sat, lost in thoughts of defeat, her phone broke the silence, jolting her back to the present. It was Taylor on the other end, her voice brimming with excitement.

"Cynthia? Great news, we raised the funds and then some. We've well surpassed your goal!"

For a moment, elation coursed through Cynthia, a bright spark reigniting her hope. But almost as quickly, the enormity of her commitment crashed over her like a wave. The tattoos, the permanence, the exposure -- it all suddenly felt very real and very imminent.

Taylor continued, oblivious to Cynthia's internal struggle. "Thom and I saw the pledges coming in and had a strong feeling we'd hit the target. So, we're all set on our end. Everything is designed and ready for you."

Cynthia's stomach churned as she realized the gravity of what they were planning to do. The fundraiser had been a success, but it also meant that there was no going back now. She was about to be substantially tattooed for her cause, a prospect that both excited and scared her. She couldn't deny the importance of preserving the land, but the thought of permanently marking herself for it left her both intrigued and terrified.

"I'll...head over tomorrow?" Cynthia's voice was hesitant, betraying her sudden anxiety about the reality of what was to come, but at the same time well aware of the looming deadline to close on the land.

"Perfect," Taylor replied cheerfully. "We know you are on a time crunch, so we've shut the shop down all week for you. You'll need at least three days scheduled out on your end, and bring a weekend bag. We have a guest bedroom in our apartments above the studio where you can stay? See you tomorrow morning!"

As Cynthia hung up, the weight of Taylor's words sank in. Days? They needed days to complete this tattoo? The realization struck her with a mix of awe and shock. She had envisioned a long tattoo session, maybe even two, but the prospect of multiple days under the tattoo needle was something she hadn't fully considered.

Sitting alone with her thoughts, Cynthia grappled with the mixture of fear and excitement swirling inside her. She was on the cusp of making a bold statement, a visible, permanent testament to her dedication to the cause she held so dear. It was a daunting prospect, but as she reflected on the saved fern habitat and the support of the community, her resolve strengthened.

Taking a deep breath, she mentally braced herself for the upcoming journey - one of self-discovery, dedication, and a vastly changed appearance.

----

As the morning sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the city, Cynthia pulled into the parking lot of Nouveau Tattoo in her little Honda hybrid car. Her heart raced with a mix of nervous anticipation and a strange sense of commitment to the cause that had brought her here. She stepped out of her car, pulling a small suitcase behind her, and approached the studio.

The parking lot was empty, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle when she was there three weeks ago. The sign on the door of Nouveau Tattoo read 'Closed', but the lights inside were on, casting a welcoming glow through the windows. Pushing the door she found it open, and she stepped into a world that was both familiar and utterly transformed.

The studio, usually a hub of activity and the sound of buzzing tattoo machines, was rearranged into a solemn, almost ceremonial setup. At the center of the studio stood a single padded tattoo table. All the other work stations for other artists had been pushed aside. This solitary tattoo table was surrounded by an array of lights and video cameras, making it look like a stage set for an intimate yet significant event.

Thom and Taylor were there, setting up around the table, their smiles warm but professional, a calming presence in the midst of Cynthia's mounting anxiety. The air was filled with a palpable sense of anticipation. Arranged around the table were stands holding the tools that would be used to mark her; tattoo machines lined up and waiting to be used, ink caps filled with a rainbow of colors neatly lined up on trays, and paper stencils with intricate designs in folders close at hand. It was clear that they had meticulously planned every detail for this momentous undertaking.

Cynthia paused in the doorway, overwhelmed by the sight before her. It suddenly dawned on her that all the tattoo work a bustling and popular tattoo studio could produce in three days on a multitude of clients would now be solely focused on her and her alone. She wondered how much tattooing that was? But she already knew the answer. It was a lot.

Stepping into the studio, she was hit with a wave of excitement and nervousness. The tattoo table, illuminated by bank of spotlights, seemed to beckon her closer like an altar waiting for sacrifice. As she walked closer, thoughts swirled in her mind. Was this really worth it? Was she prepared for the permanent change this would bring? This was more than just saving land; it was a personal journey now. Would she still be the same person when it was all over?

Cynthia stepped out of her simple dress, and beneath it was the black bikini she was instructed to wear for the coming sessions.

Her steps towards the tattoo table were slow and deliberate, as if she's walking towards her own personal execution. She tentatively reached out and touched the table, feeling its cold surface beneath her fingertips. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she lay down on the table, knowing that she will not be the same when she rises from it again.

As she settled in, Taylor produced a soft black blindfold. "The fans had an idea," she said with an impish grin. "You'll get an extra $5,000 for wearing this during the session. They love this kind of thing." The suggestion was unexpected, but Cynthia, already deeply committed, simply nodded in agreement. Taylor gently tied the blindfold over her eyes, plunging her world into darkness.

Thom's voice broke the silence as Cynthia lay blindfolded, her other senses heightened. "This is our first campaign like this, so we weren't sure how it would go. But it went pretty viral, reaching well beyond our usual circle of fans."

Lying there, Cynthia tried to process what Thom was saying. How viral? What did that mean?

Thom continued, his voice calm yet serious. "Money is still coming in. You don't have to accept beyond the $100,000 you initially committed to, but the option is there."

Cynthia's mind raced. "How much more?" she asked.

"We are close to $200,000," Thom replied matter-of-factly.

The enormity of that figure made Cynthia pause. "What will that mean for me if I accept it?" she asked, her heart pounding.

There was a brief, weighty silence before Thom spoke again. "It will mean a lot more commitment from you Cynthia. It's twice as much money."

Cynthia lay there, blindfolded, contemplating the significance of her next words. She thought of the land that could be saved, the ferns, the impact of such a substantial sum. Her decision would not just mark her skin; it would mark a turning point for the cause she held dear.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on, she heard her own voice, sounding more steady than she felt, say, "I'll take whatever we raise."

Her words settled across the room. Thom raised an eyebrow and nodded with respect.

"Taylor, start the live feed," Thom instructed, his voice calm yet filled with anticipation. Moments later, Cynthia heard the subtle movements around her, the sound of rolling chairs and the quiet bustle of preparation. Despite her blindness, the sense of being at the center of something monumental was palpable.

Thom cleared his throat softly before speaking. His voice, charismatic and steady, carried through the room. "Welcome to our very first 'Tattooed for a Cause.' campaign. Today, we have Cynthia with us, who has made an extraordinary commitment to help save a vital piece of land, home to rare ferns, from development. Her courage and dedication have inspired a campaign that has caught the imagination of people far and wide. Thanks to your generosity of all of you, we've raised an incredible sum. Now, it's time for Cynthia to honor that commitment."

"Cynthia," Thom said, heightening the drama of the moment, "Are you ready to be Tattooed for a Cause?"

She had not expected to be put on the spot this way, with her body exposed and her face hidden behind a blindfold. As she tried to muster an enthusiastic "Yes!", she couldn't help but feel incredibly vulnerable, knowing that there were countless anonymous viewers watching her every move. Her effort at enthusiasm came out as a meek and small "yes" that was barely above a whisper.

The energy in the room shifted, becoming more focused and intense. Thom took his position on Cynthia's right while Taylor sat on her left. Cynthia braced herself for the expected pain of the needle, a sensation unknown to her, but was surprised when she felt only the light touch of pens and the press of paper against her skin. The initial sketches traced, stenciled and drawn from her wrists to shoulders were just the beginning of this lengthy marathon she was about to embark upon.

The room was as quiet as a library, with only the occasional whisper between Thom and Taylor discussing the nuances of their design. This studious silence was suddenly broken by a gentle whirring sound. It was an odd, mechanical whisper. Cynthia had expected the buzzing she associated with tattoo machines she had scene on TV, but this sound was different, softer somehow. Was this really it?

A sensation began near her right wrist--a peculiar mix of scratching and burning that was not entirely painful, but neither was it pleasant. Soon after, on Taylor's side she heard a similar sound and then the same sensation, but this time near her left wrist. Panic set in as she realized what was happening - needles were pushing ink forever into her skin, an irreversible mark of her decision to save the land. The blindfold could not hide the fear in her widening eyes as she felt the ink being pricked into her flesh. This was it, there was no turning back now.

Anxiety rippled through Cynthia's body as the tattoo needles punctured her skin. It was a mixture of fear and pride that pulsed through her veins, knowing that this was the moment they had been preparing for. The weeks of waiting as the money were raised were nerve wracking but abstract; but this was no longer abstract. The ink flowed into her skin, staining it forever This wasn't just a temporary decision, but a permanent mark changing her very identity. Doubts and uncertainties flooded her mind, threatening to consume her as she endured the relentless sensation. She knew that once this was done, there was no turning back from her commitment to champion this cause.

The hours at Nouveau Tattoo passed like a whirlwind of focused energy and artistry. Thom and Taylor worked tirelessly, their tattoo machines weaving a tapestry of ink up each of Cynthia's arms. They were meticulous in their craft, pausing only occasionally to allow Cynthia a brief respite. She would sip water or visit the bathroom, the blindfold remaining a constant companion, heightening her other senses to the buzz of the machines and the soft murmur of the artists at work.

As they worked, Taylor occasionally announced the growing number of viewers tuning in to witness this unique event. "1,200 viewers!" she would exclaim, and the numbers kept climbing as the day progressed, each announcement adding to the surreal nature of the experience.

Upon reaching her shoulders, the session paused for a moment. Thom and Taylor, with gentle professionalism, applied pasties to Cynthia's nipples, preparing her for the next phase of the tattoo. The stencils and pens returned, and the design began to extend, now sprawling across her chest. Their imagination flourished, creating patterns that swirled gracefully over her slight frame, embracing her contours with artistic precision and care.

Cynthia, amidst the sounds of creativity and occasional announcements of viewership, was acutely aware of every touch of pen and stencil. Then, the room fell into a familiar silence, punctuated only by the soft whirring of the tattoo machines as they resumed their dance across her skin.

"4,500 viewers!" Taylor's voice rang out, a mix of excitement and disbelief. "The pledges are lighting up!"

"It is after 6:00," Thom noted, always the practical one, "Looks like prime time hours will have peak viewership. To be expected. We should adjust some parts of this to catch the peak crowd."

The atmosphere in the studio was electric, charged with the energy of thousands watching and contributing to their cause. For Cynthia, each buzz of the needle, each stroke of ink, was a profound reminder of her commitment. The sensation of the tattoo machine moving across her chest was both exhilarating and daunting. She felt the needles circle her breasts, only sparing her sensitive nipples with their relentless progress.

Finally, Cynthia, still blindfolded and awash in a sea of emotions, was gently swiveled into a seated position by Thom and Taylor. The passage of time in the studio felt surreal -- it was now late afternoon verging on evening, nearly twelve hours since they had begun. The intensity of the day weighed on her, each hour marked by the transformative touch of ink on skin.

Hoping that her session was nearing its completion, Cynthia felt a mix of relief and trepidation when they had her stand up. Thom's voice, calm and focused, broke the silence. "Please stand very straight and hold still." Confused but trusting, Cynthia complied, feeling Thom's hands gently adjusting her head to ensure she was perfectly aligned.

Cynthia's gave a slight gasp as she felt paper stencils pressed tightly against each side of her delicate neck, Thom and Taylor's hushed voices discussing the precise placement. The pounding of her heart intensified as the stencils were flattened to her skin and she felt their hands, on each side, wrap almost around her throat. She then felt the delicate paper pull away. She knew a design was there now, waiting for the needles to make it permanent; boldly placed on her neck a throat, and she couldn't shake off the overwhelming feeling of dread that consumed her. This tattoo was a bold statement, a public and uncompromising mark she wasn't sure she was ready for.

"Cynthia," Thom interrupted her racing thoughts, his tone serious. "These next designs are towards $50,000 above your original goal. Should we continue?"

Cynthia hesitated, torn between her exhaustion, anxiety and her desire to make a difference. She was just one person, how much more of herself could she give? But then again, another $50,000 could mean so much for preserving land and rare species. Her mind raced as she tried to make a decision. "How much have you raised total?" she asked, her voice betraying her fatigue.

Thom answered, "We are taking donations even now..."

"This could go more than three days?" Cynthia's question was tinged with disbelief.

"Yes," Thom replied. "We'll do this as long as you and your supporters desire."

Taking a deep breath, Cynthia processed the enormity of what was happening. She had said she'd take whatever they raised. But the tattoos were becoming impossible to hide; a startling change for her that she never expected when she walked in the studio just hours ago. Finally, with a deep breath, she pushed aside her conflicting emotions and whispered "Yes," in resignation.