A Night on Zintia Peak

by **Pluckett** on September 10th, 2019, 11:55 pm

27 of Fall 519

Twilight was in its peak as Pluckett exited her simple apartment onto Zintia's peak. No work tonight. She wondered what to do with her time, especially with the weight of tomorrow's meeting on her mind. Curiosity filled her being, along with anxiety, and fear. What secrets would be revealed with the gathering? Was she even capable of solving a murder? Surely she could at least try. Still, that fear.

Fear.

What did she fear? She turned a corner into an alleyway. Mystery? She was more curious than fearful. The dark alleyway was shaded from the lowering sun. It wasn't until she looked up and saw the building that she was even conscious of where the alley took her.
It was a tall, beautiful building, with a domed ceiling made of skyglass.
She went in, then nearly laughed at the irony.
Fear.

In all her times at sea, with the heavily decorated sailors, she never got a tattoo. The reason why was simply that she feared the needles - hundreds of tiny prods and pokes and pinpricks putting ink in her skin. Today was as good a day as any to finally face her fear. Her stomach twisted, and just as soon as she weighed the benefits of bolting a pale woman stepped out from one of the adjoining rooms.
Pluckett had not seen many Symenestra before. The race was illusive, and often she had heard tales of how the men would steal away women of other races to impregnate, eventually leading to death in childbirth. She didn't let these tales prevent her from trusting the spindly woman.
"Hello, how may I help you today? Do you have an appointment?" The woman's accented voice was just as light and fragile as her. Pluckett took a moment, her words caught in her throat. "I'd like to get a tattoo, and I - I don't have one, no."
The Symenestra sat down, gesturing to the seat beside her.
"That's fine. And what would you like this tattoo to be?"
Pluckett didn't take long to answer, "the ocean. I want something simple, something that will remind me of the sea."

The woman tilted her head. "Location?"
Pluckett looked at one of the paintings lining the wall. The tattoo, an pale blue and purple okomo standing atop a mountain, was on a woman's upper arm, wrapping around. "I'll have it here," she pointed to her upper right arm. Her nerves still hadn't settled, and she had to concentrate to keep her finger from shaking.
"Let's go back to the room and I'll start drawing something up."
She led Pluckett back to the room she came from, picking up a pad of paper and setting it on a slanted desk. She took a drawing stick and immediately began to sketch waves as soon as she sat down. Pluckett awkwardly took a seat in the other chair, the one that was tilted back.
"So what is your name?" Pluckett's mouth was so dry she was certain the woman could hear the cracks.
"Soraya. You?" She was busy at work, occasionally turning to glance at her newfound canvas.
"Pluckett." She tilted in her chair to look at the drawing pad. It was full of various attempts at ocean themes, from clam shells to fish to waves. "I like the waves," Pluckett commented.
"I was thinking the same. Upper arm, waves. Something small, I presume?"
"Y-yeah."
"Lapis ink?"
"Yeah," Pluckett agreed despite not knowing quite what that meant.
"Ok." The woman now took paintbrushes and quickly went to work on a new sheet. It was barely five minutes before she turned to Pluckett, pointing at a rounded wave tattoo. "How do you feel about this?"
Pluckett looked carefully, standing up and walking over. "I love it," she replied as she forgot about her fear for a moment. At this time, she was just appreciating a painting. The realization that it would be going on her skin hit right as soon as she returned to the seat.
"Let's get started then," the woman opened a drawer and took out some supplies. Her back was turned, and Pluckett caught a whiff of alcohol followed by fire.
"Cleaning the needle," the woman said. The word itself made Pluckett freeze, too frozen to even protest. She steeled herself and forced herself to take deep breaths.
The woman was by her side in an instant, vials of ink there. Pluckett felt like fainting, but stayed conscious, almost unfortunately. This would be easier if she didn't feel it.

"Nervous?"
"Yeah..."
"Just take a breath. I'm starting... now."
The prick was no worse than a pinprick. Pluckett let her breath go. That was it? It was followed by another. Unpleasant, but she was going to be able to survive it.
It was more sore than painful as the process continued. Every once in a while, the woman would wipe her arm with a towel, and they made idle chatter every once in a while, and in about two bells the tattoo artist leaned back. She gave a final wipe, then claimed "All right."
She pulled a mirror from the desk, and angled it so Pluckett could view it proper. It was beautiful, glistening from the lapis ink. "Thank you."
The woman proceeded to wrap it, rattling off directions to keep it clean, uncover it after two bells, and let it breathe, stay out of the sun, be gentle with it. Pluckett nodded to each of these, then handed over her payment and headed out.
Exiting the alleyway back onto the main path, Pluckett wondered what to do next.

Memo	Amount (Kina)	Balance (Kina)
Lapis Tattoo, Small	21	440.50

WC: 949

by **Madeira Dusk** on September 12th, 2019, 10:32 pm

Madeira stood, looking determinedly skyward, as she held her white lace skirt up around her waist.

Inecino Kimur, her tattoo artist, was crouched in front of her, completely unperturbed as he examined the three healing tattoo's on her thigh and belly. She had long ago gotten used to the completely detached professionalism with which he viewed her- as if her body existed purely as a canvas. Though part of her, the part that was starting to speak in Madame Belladonna's dulcet tones, still suspected very firmly that he was gay.

"This is good", he spoke almost absently, like he was talking to himself alone in the room. He held her by the hips, turning her this way and that like a basking turkey to view the tattoo’s from every angle. "The scabs are healthy and healing nicely. We won't replace the bandaging this time. Soak them in water and they should rub right off."

He pressed his index finger very carefully to the dark scab on her left thigh, cracking the hard plate to reveal the colourful skin beneath. It was the largest of the three, a sandcastle under a blue sky, with a red leaf poking out the top like a flag. Then on her right hip was a sleek white fox with a silver crown, and on her left was a pair of curling pastel okomo horns. Of the seven tattoos Madeira had across her body, Inecino had done six of them. She trusted his work enough that even though three of them were black and crusted, she knew that in time she would have a masterpiece just like the ones before.

While Madeira studied the ceiling, determinedly avoiding eye contact with the artist,
she heard voices through the closed door. It seemed Soraya was finishing up her own appointment. The room was occupied when she arrived, and from the length of time she surmised her appointment was not a checkup but a tattoo session. She couldn’t help but eavesdrop as the symenstra rattled off care instructions right outside Inecino’s door. It was partly because she lacked a better distraction while being poked at, and partly because she though she heard a familiar voice between the barrage of information.

"Yes, that will do." Inecino stood, indicating Madeira could drop her skirt. "We won't rebandage them. Either let them dry and the scabs will fall off on their own, or soak them and you'll be able to wipe them off."

Madeira nodded, smoothing her skirt down over her hips, feeling the dull ache of the tender skin under her hands. She rearranged the blue emerald she wore around her throat and in the comb in her tightly coiled hair, "Thank you again, Inecino. I'll be back, I imagine. You can't keep me away for long, can you?" She tried a flirty little wink, which seemed to almost physically bounce off the disinterested artist.

“Make sure to leave an appointment at the front desk when you do. Have a good day, Miss Craven”, he opened the door to let her through.

Definitely gay, Belladonna’s voice purred in her ear. Madeira had to cough to cover the snort of laughter.

The spiritist settled her payment at the front desk and let herself out into the unseasonal Fall heat. Twilight was fast descending. She still had a few bells before the midnight rest, and consequently a few more bells until the meeting in Ahleas Park. She didn’t want to go home and stew in the apprehension until then. This might be the last night of an unburdened mind before the questions start flying and the paranoia set in.

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. The stress was getting to her. Perhaps this was the time to finally get away and try that spa she kept catching glimpses of hight in the mountains.

It was as this thought was batted around her mind that she saw a figure ahead. A very diminutive figure, with a dark completion lost in the low light and fresh white bandages around her upper arm. Ah, so that’s why the voice was so familiar. Madeira’s face lit up, her thoughts running in new, exciting directions.

Just when she needed it, the gods saw fit to send a pretty little distraction her way. This girl was starting to be her new favourite toy.

She didn’t call out right away, instead stopping in the street and working her mouth like she was about to cough. Dijed was pulled from her soul and moved in liquid currents through her mouth, tying itself into one very important word with a small, gentle dose of hypnotism. Only once she was ready did she lift her head, the word bouncing in three perfect syllables from her lips, the sound of her voice carrying a flush of pleasure.

“Pluckett!”

Ledger :

x

by **Pluckett** on September 19th, 2019, 6:28 pm

Near the end of the session, she heard doors open and voices mingling. One had an accent that was familiar but unplaceable - not Lhavitian for sure. The other would have to have been another tattoo artist by the few words she caught. She heard snippets of conversation, regarding care of a tattoo, but the tattooist's many bits of advice were too important to pass up. The session finalized, she left without a clear goal of what to do next, but was glad to have done something that had previously frightened her too much to even consider.

She started down the street, her mind going around. She needed to find somewhere to relax. The tattoo was a distraction and gave a healthy stress but it did nothing for the sore feeling in her shoulders that would only get more intense with the coming season. Carrying an instrument case up mountains did a number for one's back, even after she had gotten used to the steep trails and many steps. Her legs had become very toned at the least, a fact she felt proud of. Her upper arm was sore and tingling from the fresh wounds of the tattoo, and she was trying her best to not rub it when she heard a familiar voice and was overcome with a inexplicabley good feeling that wiped her mind of its thoughts for just a second.

"Pluckett!"
She turned and recognized the woman from that night at work. Madeira, the Alvadan, who was no longer in the intricate feathered cloak but was still dressed in lace and garments that brought shame to Pluckett's basic shirt-and-pants outfit. She had to go to a tailor sometime - although she had kept them clean, she knew her simple clothes weren't going to survive forever.
"Madeira, it's good to see you!"
She paused for a moment.
"I didn't know you even had tattoos." She hadn't even seen much of the woman's skin in the first place. In both encounters, she had nearly all skin but her head covered, and even her hands were gloved and covered in various rings and jewels. She wondered what tattoos the woman would even had. She knew next to nothing about the woman besides her career and origins, after all. Maybe a spiritist would have ghost tattoos? Maybe dark macabre things. Or maybe all her tattoos were bright and extravagant in contrast to her profession. Pluckett felt the tingle of her simple wave tattoo, a basic representation of her life and key to freedom from her past. Syliras felt like a far distant memory by this point, but she still heard her mother's harsh scolding in her thoughts every now and again. She straightened her back out of reflex.

The meeting still on her mind, she realized that a spiritist would also be very interested in the murders and strife that had been in the city. If a mage's wife had worries, a mage themselves would certainly be watching their back. Was Madeira hiding suspicion, and if so, of whom? Was she going to this meeting as well? Pluckett felt that if she was taking part in an investigation, it would be a good escuse to team up and have more power in the situation. Plus, spending more time around the mysterious woman gave her a gut feeling that it would certainly be worth her while. She wasn't even sure how to bring it up, but decided to wait for her response nonetheless.

WC: 592

Open A Night on Zintia Peak