Nouveau Tattoo Pt. 01 - Cynthia

Gently, they laid her back down. Thom carefully turned her head to the side, exposing the side of her neck to his needles, and the familiar whirr of the tattoo machine filled the room once more. Then came the bite of the needle at the base of her neck, a sensation that was now both familiar and startling. Cynthia lay there, the reality of her choice settling in -- she was part of something much bigger than herself, a symbol of commitment and change.

The constant whirring and humming of the tattoo machines filled the room, surrounding Cynthia as she lay still on the table. Thom was carefully working on her neck, causing a tingling sensation to travel down her spine. Across from him, Taylor had started on her other arm, placing a fresh stencil onto the top of her hand before turning on her own tattoo machine.

"6,000 viewers now!" Taylor suddenly exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement and disbelief. "And the donations? They just keep coming!"

Behind her blindfold, Cynthia felt a complex mix of emotions. She was thrilled about the funds, knowing every dollar was a step closer to saving more land. But with each needle prick, the reality of her transformation hit harder. She had signed up for a tattoo, yes, but now she was becoming a living canvas, a walking testament to her cause. It was a transformation on a scale she hadn't fully comprehended.

When Thom finished with her neck, they switched roles. Taylor started on the left side of Cynthia's neck, her touch gentle yet determined, while Thom moved on to stencil and then tattoo her right hand and arm. The duality of the situation--her body rapidly changing under the guise of art and activism--left Cynthia wrestling with her thoughts. This was no mere tattoo session; it was a metamorphosis, one she was still trying to wrap her head around.

Hours later, as the session drew to a close late into the night, Thom and Taylor gently swiveled Cynthia to a seated position. She was exhausted, and her skin felt raw, almost like a bad sunburn. Slowly the helped Cynthia up, still blindfolded, and sprayed her down with cool water. The sensation was shockingly pleasant, a stark contrast to the prolonged discomfort she had just endured.

They guided her to a mirror, her legs weak and wobbling, anticipation building with each step. Standing there, waiting for the blindfold to be removed, Cynthia's heart pounded. She was about to face the results of the first day of this journey.

The blindfold was removed, and Cynthia's world, once shrouded in darkness, burst into an overwhelming flood of light and reflection. She gasped, a visceral reaction to the sight of the stranger who met her gaze in the mirror. This stranger, adorned in a vibrant palette of nature's finest, was her--transformed so completely that recognition took a moment to dawn.

The artwork on her right arm was a deep dive into the heart of a mangrove forest, where a great heron took flight amongst a tangle of roots and dark, lush leaves. The colors were so rich, so vivid, that the scene seemed to pulsate with life, the bird in mid-flight a testament to the wild beauty of Florida's unique ecosystems.

Her left arm depicted the serene expanse of a verdant wetland, a tapestry of grasses, flowers, and the silhouetted figures of wading birds. It was a scene of tranquil beauty, yet so detailed and alive, it felt as though a soft breeze might rustle through the grasses at any moment.

The sunflowers that crowned each of her hands were beams of sunlight captured in ink, their bold yellows and deep browns a stark contrast to the myriad greens that flowed up her arms. More flowers and foliage, flowed across her chest where a sandhill crane soared in flight. A pair of matching sunflowers, one over each of her small breasts with her nipples as the center of each, echoed the ones on her hands, creating a continuity that was both striking and deeply symbolic.

But it was the blanket flowers on her neck that truly cemented the transformation. Their vivid yellows, oranges, and reds seemed to ignite against her skin, reaching up to her jawline in a display of wild, untamable beauty that she could never hide.

The shock of it all hit Cynthia like a physical blow. She was different--profoundly, irrevocably different. The realization that the canvas of her skin was now a riot of color, a declaration of her commitment to a cause, was overwhelming. She had known she would be tattooed, but this was beyond anything she had envisioned. This was not merely having a tattoo; this was becoming a work of art.

Cynthia's eyes, wide before the mirror, struggled to adapt to the new image before her. The intricate details, the sheer scale of the work that had been done, sent her reeling. It was beautiful, astonishingly so, but the permanence of it, the realization that these vivid scenes were now a part of her, forever, was a shock to her psyche. She stared dumbly at her reflection for several minutes, the shocked look on her face frozen in place.

Taylor finally flicked off the live feed, the final click echoing softly in the now-silent studio. Thom and Taylor shared weary glances, a testament to the eighteen grueling hours they had poured their artistry and energy into transforming Cynthia. The air was thick with a mix of exhaustion, satisfaction, and the lingering adrenaline of creation.

Cynthia, still reeling from the shock of her transformation, slowly made her way upstairs to the guest bedroom above the studio where Thom and Taylor lived. The climb felt surreal, each step a journey through a reality she was still struggling to accept as her own. Once in the solitude of the guest room, Cynthia sat on the edge of the bed, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of Thom and Taylor below, tidying up after the day's extraordinary efforts. In this moment of solitude, Cynthia found herself confronting a barrage of thoughts and feelings.

The weight of the vibrant, intricate tattoos that now adorned her body felt heavier with each passing moment. She traced her fingers lightly over the blanket flowers on her neck, feeling as though she could still sense the heat of the artist's needle against her skin.

The reality of her transformation settled in like an uninvited guest, forcing Cynthia to question everything she thought she knew about herself. She had walked into Nouveau Tattoo with a quiet determination, a desire to make a statement, but now that statement felt louder than she could have ever imagined. It wasn't just a tattoo; it was a reimagining of herself, a reinvention that went beyond skin-deep.

A short while later her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Taylor's voice floated in, soft but clear. "Hey, Cynthia, we're whipping up a late-night snack. You're welcome to join us if you're hungry."

Cynthia hesitated, the offer tempting, yet she was as exhausted as she had ever felt, and the need to be alone with her thoughts was overpowering. "Thanks, Taylor, but I think I just need some quiet time for a bit," she replied, her voice betraying a hint of the turmoil inside her.

"Of course, no worries. Just let us know if you need anything," Taylor said, understanding in her tone before she retreated, leaving Cynthia to her solitude.

Alone again, Cynthia's mind raced. The reflection in the mirror, the vivid tapestry of ink now covering her skin, was a constant, stark reminder of the choice she had made. Had she gone too far? Was the cause worth the permanence of this transformation? The questions were relentless, but what could she do about it now? The ink was indelible, now a part of her as much as her own thoughts and feelings.

As she lay back on the bed, the exhaustion of the day began to weigh heavily on her eyelids. But sleep seemed elusive, chased away by the endless parade of doubts and what-ifs. The decision to become a living canvas for her cause had seemed so clear, so noble at the outset. But in the quiet of the night, faced with the reality of her transformation, Cynthia couldn't help but wonder about the future.

----

Cynhia was jerked awake by the gentle knock. She was momentarily disoriented, the deep sleep she had fallen into unlike any she'd experienced before. The room was bathed in soft morning light, and she picked up her phone, and to her shock it was already 8:30. "Breakfast?" Taylor's voice came through the door, a simple question that was quickly answered by Cynthia's grumbling stomach. "Please!" she replied, the eagerness clear in her voice despite the grogginess.

As she attempted to get up, Cynthia became acutely aware of her skin--sticky, tight, and swollen. "Is this normal?" she called out, her voice laced with concern.

Taylor peeked in, surveying the vivid tapestry of ink that now covered much of Cynthia's body. "Yes," she reassured, her tone implying that this was all part of the process. "Take a shower, and we'll cover the finished sections with saniderm before we get started again this morning."

The mention of "this morning" made Cynthia's heart sink a bit. Day one had felt like a marathon, and the realization that they were only at the beginning of what was supposed to be a three-day endeavor was daunting. She wondered just how much more ink her skin could take, glancing down at the still untouched areas of her legs, hips, and belly.

"We go live at 10!" Taylor announced, pulling back from the doorway.

The day ahead suddenly felt more like a looming deadline than an exciting opportunity. Breakfast, however appealing, now felt like the calm before another storm of needles and ink. Cynthia braced herself for another long session, her mind a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The thought of how much they had raised--and consequently, how much more ink she was in for--was both thrilling and terrifying. She had committed to this, to turning her body into a canvas for a cause she believed in deeply, but the reality of what that meant was starting to truly hit home.

After a peaceful breakfast, Cynthia found herself back in the studio.

"Ready for round two?" Thom asked with a grin, motioning to her tattooed skin. She nodded and took a deep breath as Taylor began meticulously cleaned the work from the day before. It was both relieving and unsettling to have their gentle touches on her freshly inked skin. Cynthia watched as Taylor began applying a clingy plastic film over her finished tattoos. It felt like a second skin. "Saniderm it is called." Taylor explained, "This will help your tattoos heal faster." She reassuringly patted Cynthia's shoulder. Despite the whirlwind of emotions, the thought brought some comfort to Cynthia.

As she examined her upper arms and chest, Cynthia noticed a few small patches that remained untouched by the previous day's marathon tattoo session. They were outlined in black ink, waiting to be filled with vibrant colors like the rest of her upper body. After that they would move on. The enormity of the project, how it was transforming her body, and how quickly it was happening, made Cynthia pause and reflect on the gravity of her decision.

As the clock neared 10 AM, Cynthia found herself once again lying on the tattoo table, the familiar blindfold slipping over her eyes, plunging her into darkness. Taylor's voice, full of excitement, broke through the quiet of the studio. "We are live! There's already 500 people waiting. But the mornings start slow." The casual mention of the audience, of the eyes that would be on her, sent a shiver down Cynthia's spine. The reality of her situation, of the spectacle she had become, was inescapable.

Then, the familiar whir of the tattoo machines filled the air, a sound that had become oddly comforting. They resumed their work, filling in the colors and details of yesterday's outlines. The sensation of the needle on her skin was now familiar, a constant reminder of the journey she had embarked upon. Behind the blindfold, Cynthia braced herself for another day under the careful hands of Thom and Taylor, for the continuation of her transformation.

Cynthia was gently lifted to her feet, the process now familiar yet filled with a new sense of solemnity. As Thom and Taylor washed her down, the sensation of cool water on her skin brought a momentary relief, a pause in the relentless journey of transformation she was undergoing. They applied more saniderm with careful hands, sealing the fresh ink that mapped out the wild beauty of Florida across her chest and arms.

Laid back on the tattoo table, the blindfold returned her world to darkness, leaving Cynthia with her thoughts and the heightened awareness of her surroundings. The anticipation of what was next lingered in the air, a question she hadn't voiced but felt deep in her bones.

The answer came not in words but in the gentle press of pens and the positioning of stencils along her legs. The sensation was a stark reminder of the path she had chosen, each stroke a commitment etched in ink. As Thom and Taylor began their work, Cynthia felt a jolt of shocked realization. The designs on her legs might not carry the immediate visual impact of the vibrant flora and fauna that now adorned her upper body, but their significance was just as profound.

With every line drawn, Cynthia came to understand the full scope of her transformation. They were not just adding tattoos; they were encasing her in a living tapestry, a unified design that would cover her from head to toe. The realization was staggering. She had stepped into this journey with a resolve to make a difference, but the enormity of becoming fully tattooed, of her body being a completely covered, was a revelation that left her reeling.

For an hour or so Thom and Taylor sketched, their conversation a simple exchange about details of designs and their placement. She heard them put the pens away and braced herself. The whirring noise returned, and near her right ankle she felt the first odd burning sensation, joined by a similar sensation on her left side.

As the day stretched into the early evening, the studio was alive with the hum of activity and the quiet buzz of anticipation. Taylor's voice cut through the concentrated atmosphere, "5,000 viewers!" The number seemed to energize the air around them, a testament to the widespread interest in Cynthia's transformative journey.

Thom looked over at Taylor with a grin that was both encouraging and slightly mischievous. "You know what that means?" he prompted, the excitement in his voice palpable.

Taylor chimed in, her enthusiasm matching Thom's, "Another stretch goal!"

Cynthia rested on the tattoo table, her enthusiasm not quite matching that of Thom and Taylor. As they discussed "stretch goals", a mix of emotions flooded through her. She was devoted to her cause, grateful for the generous funds being raised, but also anxious about what these goals would mean for her personally. The fact that they had far exceeded their original goal and were now going above and beyond her initial agreement for the tattoos she would receive left her feeling overwhelmed.

Thom and Taylor wheeled their chairs back to her side and began applying small stencils to her fingers. "We put these to your fans, Cynthia, and we think you'll really like this!" Taylor said, trying to infuse a sense of anticipation.

Soon, the familiar whir of the tattoo machines resumed, a gentle but persistent dance across her knuckles. The sensation was unlike anything she'd felt before, each touch of the needle marking her with yet another layer of commitment.

"7,500 viewers, Cynthia, and more money going to the cause. We may be on track to reach $300,000!" Taylor announced, her voice a mix of awe and excitement.

Cynthia was stunned by the figure. $300,000? The shock of it reverberated through her, a wave of disbelief and a gnawing question of what such a sum would mean for her transformation. She had said she'd take whatever was raised, a statement made in a moment of determination and solidarity with her cause. But as the numbers climbed, the weight of her promise pressed heavily upon her.

What on earth would they do to her for $300,000? The question hung in the air, unspoken but heavy with implication. The extent of her commitment, the sheer scope of the artwork her body was becoming, was something she had never fully anticipated.

After meticulously detailing Cynthia's fingers, Thom and Taylor moved back to the more familiar territory of her legs, a process that now seemed almost routine in comparison to the rest of her transformation. The hours ticked by, the studio filled with the focused energy of creation until, finally, the clock neared midnight.

Another marathon session, fourteen hours long, came to a close.

Weary but invigorated by the day's accomplishments, they helped Cynthia to her feet and led her to the rinse area. The cool water was a balm, washing away the physical remnants of the day's work and providing a moment of soothing clarity amidst the whirlwind of her transformation.

Guided to the mirror, the blindfold was gently removed, revealing the latest additions to her living tapestry. Cynthia's gaze was immediately drawn to her legs, now adorned with a vibrant ecosystem of flowers, trees, and plants that colored her skin up to just below the knee. The black outlines continued up to her hip, a promise of more to come, interspersed with the greenery were the charming forms of wildlife--a squirrel, a fox, a gopher tortoise, and a chubby raccoon. Each creature was rendered in a style that was slightly stylized and utterly charming, their permanent presence on her skin somehow comforting amidst the shock of her transformation.

Her attention then shifted to her fingers, where delicate letters adorned her first and second knuckles -- "SEED" and "SOIL" on one hand, "STEM" and "LEAF" on the other. The simplicity of the words, the fundamental elements of growth and life, etched into her skin, brought an unexpected smile to her face. Despite the overwhelming nature of her journey, these small, intricate details struck a chord with her. Cynthia couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for these latest additions. The words on her knuckles, in particular, seemed to encapsulate the essence of her commitment--not just to the cause she supported but to a deeper connection with the earth itself. They were more than just tattoos; they were reminders of why she had embarked on this journey, symbols of growth, resilience, and the cycle of life.

Cynthia made her way upstairs and sat on her bed, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind. A gentle knock at the door momentarily grounded her. "Come in," she called out, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Taylor entered, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She took a few steps towards Cynthia, her expression one of concern. "How are you holding up?" Taylor asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Cynthia sighed, her gaze drifting. "I don't know. I keep wondering... will these tattoos define me now? Can I... find someone who'll look past them?"

Taylor nodded, understanding the depth of Cynthia's worry. "I get it. But, you know, I might not be tattoo-free for much longer myself," Taylor shared, a hint of resignation in her voice.

Cynthia looked up, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Taylor sighed, a weight in her words. "With all the new followers, the online chatter around me and the shop;  the pressure's on for me to get inked too. It's becoming something I can't just ignore.

Cynthia couldn't help but smile, despite her own turmoil. "I think you came to the wrong person for sympathy on getting tattooed..." she joked, motioning to her now ink-laden body.

Taylor returned the smile with a wry twist of her lips. "Yeah, you're right. But, maybe it is different? You're supporting a cause, doing good for the world.  I feel like, I'm being forced to meet expectations. The fans, Cyn, especially the guys, they're... eager, ruthless even. They'd donate a ton to see me get tattooed. A ton." Taylor emphasized that last word.