Nouveau Tattoo Pt. 01 - Cynthia

Thom and Taylor were still asleep. This marathon of tattooing had taken its toll on them as well. As the sessions went by they looked more obviously fatigued, with dark circles under their eyes. Cynthia gathered her things quietly, an act that felt strangely ceremonial, each item packed away marking the end of her time in the cocoon Thom and Taylor had provided.

A moment of realization struck her, and she recalled the works of Joseph Campbell and other writers; the Hero's Journey. She gave a soft laugh to herself. Her trial was over, and she, indeed, was about to return to the real world a changed woman.

Her car, neglected for almost a week, coughed to life reluctantly, echoing her own hesitation. Dressed in a simple long-sleeved blouse and capri pants that hid much but not all of her transformation, she caught sight of the sunflowers on her hands and the letters on her knuckles as she gripped the steering wheel--a stark, vibrant contrast to the her plain clothing.

She hesitantly adjusted the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of her new self. The tattoo went up to her jawline, a constant and always visible reminder of her irreversible decision. This was her now, exposed and undeniable in the harsh light of day. It was one thing to see it all in the safe confines of the tattoo studio, but facing the world with this permanent transformation was daunting. As she drove home, the silence was suffocating as she grappled with her thoughts, fears, and hopes for what lay ahead.

As she navigated the familiar streets to her home, the reality of stepping back into her life--altered in such a fundamental way--settled in. There would be groceries to buy, errands to run, work, meetings, a life to return to. Yet, how could she just go back to normal when she herself was so changed?

The thought of walking through the grocery store aisles, of encountering neighbors and strangers, brought a flutter of anxiety. Would they stare? Would they whisper? Or would they see the beauty and the commitment she had etched into her very skin?

Pulling into her driveway, Cynthia took a deep breath, steeling herself for the days ahead. The decision for the evening's session still hung over her, yet it was the immediate challenge of facing the world in her transformed state that felt most pressing. She was a canvas of vibrant colors and deep meanings now, a walking declaration of her values and her passions.

Cynthia settled back into the routine of her home office, powered up her computer, the familiar startup chime a reminder of the world she'd temporarily left behind. As her inbox loaded, she was met with a deluge of emails--messages filled with concern, panic, and queries about her sudden disappearance.

Her remote coworkers and fellow advocates were in a state of chaos, deeply concerned about the potential destruction of the land that held not only a rare fern but also countless other examples of untamed splendor, all at risk due to unrelenting urban expansion.

A twinge of guilt washed over her for not having shared her plan with them. The decision to transform her body into a canvas for the cause, to raise the funds needed to secure the land, had happened so swiftly, so all-consumingly, that communicating it had slipped her mind.

With a few quick keystrokes, she crafted a succinct response: "Funds for purchase secured." Hitting 'send,' a fleeting smile crossed her lips--a smile born of triumph and relief. Yet, as quickly as it appeared, the smile dimmed, shadowed by the realization of the personal toll her decision had exacted. The transformation was profound, a commitment etched in ink across nearly every inch of her skin. "Secured, yes," she thought, "but at what cost?" Shrugging off the lingering doubts, Cynthia tried to focus on the present, pushing thoughts of the upcoming final session to the back of her mind. Her attention, however, was abruptly drawn to a more immediate concern--her growling stomach. A quick check confirmed what she already suspected: her pantry and fridge were empty or spoiled from the week she spent away.

It was time to face the outside world, to step out not just as the environmental activist she was but as the visibly changed person she had become. With a deep breath, she prepared herself for the grocery store, for the curious stares and whispered questions that might come. This trip was more than a simple errand; it was her first foray into public life in her new skin, a test of her resolve and a step towards embracing her transformed identity.

----

As Cynthia maneuvered her cart through the aisles of Publix, she couldn't help but feel a weight pressing down on her. The curious glances and subtle stares from those around her felt like a sea of scrutiny, judging every move she made. What was once a simple trip to the grocery store had now become a gauntlet of stares and whispers. As she turned down each aisle, she could feel the eyes of onlookers following her, marking her as different, an oddity among them. She used to be just a pleasant looking young woman, drawing the occasional smile from strangers. But now, with her body covered in the vast tapestry of floral tattoos, she was no longer seen as just another face in the crowd. She was something else entirely, something that both intrigued and even unsettled some who passed by her.

Cynthia's mind was preoccupied as she trudged down the street, trying to concentrate on her shopping list while ignoring the curious glances of strangers. Suddenly, she turned a corner and almost ran into Lori, a distinguished and elder member of the Native Plant Society who commanded respect from all those around her. Cynthia had always admired Lori's confidence and knowledge, viewing her as a mentor in the organization.

Lori's reaction was initially one unabashed staring, and then there was a moment of recognition. "Cynthia? My goodness, is that you? What on earth have you done to yourself?"

Cynthia felt a pang of discomfort but stood her ground. "It's...a long story, Lori. It was part of a fundraising campaign for Native Plant, to raise money for the land? This," she gestured to her tattooed body, "was part of it."

Lori raised her eyebrows, a mix of surprise and skepticism in her gaze. "For the land? I heard we'd secured the funds this morning, but I had no idea where they came from, let alone that it was done in such an... extreme manner."

Cynthia nodded, trying to gauge Lori's reaction. "Yes, it is quite a commitment. But we raised enough to save the habitat, with some more for the general funds. That's the important thing."

Lori pursed her lips, considering. "Well, I suppose that's commendable. But, my dear, this is quite the statement." There was a hint of disapproval in her voice, the generational divide between them never more apparent. "Aren't you worried about... well, the permanence of it all?"

Cynthia felt the need to defend her choice, despite the doubts that still lingered. "It was worth it to me, Lori. The cause was too important. And I guess I'll just have to live with being a bit more... conspicuous."

Lori looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Well, I can't say I understand your methods, but I can't fault your dedication. Just make sure you're ready for all this entails, Cynthia. The world can be unkind to those who stand out too much."

Cynthia drove home, Lori's last words in the grocery rolling over in her mind, troubling her the whole way. Finally back in the sanctuary of her home, Cynthia exhaled and methodically unpacked her groceries, each item placed with a sense of routine that felt oddly comforting. As she settled everything into its place, her gaze drifted to the clock. The hands seemed to move inexorably towards 6 PM, each tick a reminder of the decision that lay ahead.

She let out a long, deep sigh. The truth was, she could choose to stay home. No one would blame her for not going through with the final tattoo. Taylor would understand, and even Thom, despite his enthusiasm for the project, would respect her decision. Lori's reaction at the grocery store echoed in her mind, a reminder that those in her environmental circle that she was doing this for were already questioning her choices.

But then, there was the $75,000. That money, along with whatever else they could raise in the final session, could do so much good. It could protect more land, save more habitats, make a real difference in the environmental causes she was so passionate about.

The clock continued its relentless march, each minute bringing her closer to the moment of decision. She wrestled with the pros and cons, the desire to do good for her cause against the personal cost of such a visible and permanent change.

As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting longer shadows across the room, Cynthia found herself caught in a silent debate with the ticking clock. Each passing minute brought the 6 PM appointment into sharper focus, a threshold between decision and action that felt heavier as the hour approached.

Cynthia slowly rose from the table and approached the mirror. Dressed in the simple clothing that she wore through the day she took a fresh look at herself. There was no hiding what who she was now. A change in her very identity had been accomplished in less than a week. She was a tattooed woman. The tattoos that adorned her skin were a bright, vivid, and starkly public declaration. Even modestly dressed as she was they were impossible to conceal. Her neck, her throat, her hands--all bore the marks of her journey. Glancing down, below her capri-length slacks, the ornate tapestry of ink resumed; green, red and yellow and purple flowers and plants flowing down, ending at a line just at her ankle.

The next step loomed. This step, though daunting, was just that--a step. Another layer of meaning added to the canvas of her body. With a resigned sigh, she took out her phone and captured a selfie of her face in the mirror. It was a moment of acknowledgment, a silent farewell to the person she had been, and a recognition of the path she was choosing to continue down.

Putting the phone away, Cynthia reached out, her fingertips brushing against the cool surface of the mirror, tracing the reflection of her face. Without another glance back, she turned away and made her way to her car, the decision made.

The drive to Nouveau Tattoo was a quiet one, filled with the hum of the road and the tumult of her thoughts. Each mile closer to the studio was a reaffirmation of her commitment, a steady resolve solidifying with every passing moment.

----

As she parked outside Nouveau Tattoo, the familiar sight of the studio was both daunting and reassuring. Stepping out of the car, Cynthia carried with her not just the weight of her decision but the hope of what her final session would contribute to the cause that had driven her to this point.

Cynthia pushed open the door to Nouveau Tattoo, stepping into the now-familiar space that had become a crucible for her transformation. The studio, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon light, felt both welcoming and solemn, the padded tattoo table at its heart a stark reminder of the journey she had embarked upon.

As she entered, Taylor caught sight of her and beamed, closing the distance between them with quick steps. They embraced, a long embrace filled with the warmth of their new intimacy, a testament to the trust and bond that had been forged in ink, art, and affection over the past few days. "It will be beautiful, Cyn," Taylor whispered, her voice laden with sincerity and a hint of anticipation. "I appreciate your trust." Pulling back, Taylor's excitement was palpable as she glanced at her screen. "Already have 4,000 people in the waiting room!" she announced, underscoring the widespread interest in what was to come.

Cynthia changed into a light sundress; a sleeveless garment with a short hem. She glanced into the large shop mirror, a reflective confidant that had borne witness to her transformation. A small smile played upon her lips as she drank in her reflection.

Thom, standing with a quiet dignity before the cameras, cleared his throat to address the virtual audience. "Good evening, everyone," he began, his voice steady and commanding attention. "We're gathered here today for a very special occasion. Over the past week, we've been privileged to be part of an extraordinary journey with Cynthia, a dedicated environmental activist who has transformed her very skin into a canvas for her cause."

He paused, allowing his words to resonate with the audience. "Thanks to Cynthia's courage and your generous support, we've raised significant funds to protect and preserve a critical habitat for Florida's native wildflowers and the wildlife that depends on them. But our work isn't done yet. Tonight, we embark on the final session of Cynthia's transformation, a bold statement that underscores the depth of her commitment."

Cynthia, dressed to make a striking impression on the audience, felt a mixture of pride and nervousness as she smiled and twirled before the cameras, revealing the stunning artwork that now adorned her body. Then, in a moment of tenderness, Taylor leaned in to plant a soft kiss on Cynthia's right cheek, and gave her a subtle, knowing wink. 'That is where it is going,' Taylor said without a spoken word.

Cynthia stood in the center of the room, cameras and lights trained upon her as Thom approached, holding a piece of stencil paper. Cynthia did not see the design, but she felt the thin paper as it was pressed to her skin. Thom gently pressed the design high on the right side of her forehead, a symbolic beginning that would forever alter Cynthia's visage to the world. His touch then pressed the design as it swept down in a graceful arc, framing the right side of her face in an intricate dance between art and identity, filling the space between her right eye and ear, a delicate maneuver that highlighted the trust between artist and canvas. The design concluded its journey along the right side of her cheek, and ended as a bold curl on the right side of her chin, a final touch that anchored the transformation, making a statement as profound in its visibility as in its meaning.

Thom pulled the stencil away, and Thom and Taylor looked at her, appraising the yet unseen design that was on her face. They exchanged a look, nodded, and led Cynthia to the waiting table.

For the last time Cynthia laid on the tattoo table, and turned on to her left side, her body tensed in anticipation of the final session. The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shuffle of feet. The sterile lighting of the studio illuminated every detail of Cynthia's form as she braced herself for one last time under the needle. Taylor approached and sat next to Cynthia, facing her. Their eyes met, and Taylor reached out to grasp her hand in a comforting gesture. In this moment, their connection felt like a lifeline amidst the sea of anxiety that surrounded them. Taylor's presence served as a comfort, helping calm Cynthia for the needle that Thom was just now picking up.

In Cynthia's eyes, a flicker of fear was evident, the magnitude of the moment weighing heavily on her. Taylor, recognizing this, offered a smile full of warmth and reassurance. Her grip on Cynthia's hand tightened gently, a silent promise of support.

"Will you be there for me?" Taylor's voice was soft, a whisper that carried a depth of meaning. It was a look to the future. A future that Taylor wanted Cynthia to share with her, and for Cynthia to be there when her turn came.

Cynthia managed a small smile, despite the nerves. "Of course," she replied, her voice steady. The affirmation was more than just words; it was a pledge of solidarity, a commitment to stand by Taylor as she had stood by her.

As the smile lingered on Taylor's lips, the whir of the tattoo machine filled the room. Cynthia braced herself, feeling the first touch of the needle on the right side of her chin as she looked into Taylor's smiling face. She closed her eyes. The sensation was familiar--sharp and burning--yet it carried a new weight. This was the final act, the last piece of her transformation.

In that moment, with Taylor's hand in hers and Thom's skilled hands guiding the needle, Cynthia felt a surge of courage. The fear that had clouded her eyes moments before was replaced by a sense of resolve. She was ready to face this final step, buoyed by the support of those who had become more than just the artists marking her skin--they were her companions on this extraordinary journey.

The needle, guided by Thom's steady hand, began to trace the intricate design that had been meticulously stenciled onto her skin. With each precise movement, the artwork inched across the right side of her face, marking the most visible part of her body.

Amidst the tension, Taylor's voice cut through with unbridled enthusiasm. "We've reached 8,000 viewers! The GoFundMe is doing amazing!" Her words were a ray of hope, reminding Cynthia of the far-reaching effects of her own growth and progress. In the midst of the high-stakes situation, the knowledge that thousands were watching, rooting for her, and actively donating to help the cause brought a sense of comfort and motivation; a feeling that this was the right choice.

The tattoo needle danced across Cynthia's temple, cheek, and face, causing a mix of familiarity and unease to wash over her. Each touch and stroke represented her unwavering dedication to a cause that had become ingrained in her very being. With steely determination, she endured the pain, fully aware that this process was not just changing her physical appearance, but also her entire existence in the eyes of society. But she remained resolute, steadfast in her decision to undergo this transformation.

"10,000! We are breaking the Internet!" Taylor's voice rang out again, this time with a note of triumph. The milestone was more than just a number; it was a testament to the collective power of community, art, and activism. As the hours passed, the relentless progress of the needle continued, each movement a step closer to the completion of Cynthia's transformation.

Finally, after what felt like both a moment and a lifetime, Thom set the machine down. The sudden silence in the studio was profound, a stark contrast to the constant buzz that had filled the space. The cool spray of water across Cynthia's face was a balm, soothing the heated skin and signaling the end of the session. It was finished. She was finished.

In that moment, the realization washed over Cynthia in waves--a mix of relief, pride, and a profound sense of accomplishment. She had embarked on this journey as a gesture of commitment to her cause, but in the process, she had also discovered new depths of strength and resilience within herself, and a new appreciation for an art that she knew so little about.

"You did it Cyn, it is beautiful," Taylor said softly, wiping a tear from her eye.

As she lay there, taking in the quiet congratulations of Thom and Taylor, the weight of what they had achieved together settled around her. She was done, transformed not just in body but in spirit--a living testament to the power of conviction and the indelible mark of true dedication.

After the machine was put down and Cynthia was rinsed with soothing water, Taylor carefully panned the camera to capture every detail of the newly inked masterpiece on Cynthia's face. "Incredible," she whispered, a sentiment echoed in the hushed awe that filled the studio. The moment was more than a culmination of hours under the needle; it was the unveiling of a profound symbol of commitment and beauty.

With gentle encouragement, Thom and Taylor helped Cynthia to her feet, steadying her as she took those first steps towards the mirror. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a collective breath held in wait for Cynthia's reaction.