inked. [lance]

WHEN OBLIVION IS CALLING OUT YOUR NAME

Natalie knew several girls back home that would enjoy nothing than participating in a process designed to bring out the best in their looks. She knew others that were ignorant of the term "self-conscious", and would find being stripped nude to be groomed and cleaned as natural as getting their hair styled.

As someone who enjoyed neither activity, she placed it near getting food poisoning and sitting through one of her history teacher's lectures as the worst things that had ever happened to her.

Having survived the brutal assailants that had been her prep team, she sat covered by nothing more than a thin robe, shivering slightly from a draft and feeling raw, almost, like she had just had two layers of skin removed.

Given the ferocity that the team had possessed while cleaning her up, she wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

The door opens, and she looks up, startled, as a rather severe looking woman enters the room.

Great, time for round two.

The woman closes and locks the door behind her, before turning to face the blonde girl. Something on her begins to make noise, and without missing a beat the woman grabs an electronic device out of her pocket and casually tosses it to the far side of the room.

"Hello, Miss Brandt." The woman's voice is loud and sharp, and so unlike the high-pitched, trilling voices of the prep team that it catches her by surprise. "I'm Adessia Silvester, your stylist. But you can call me Dess."

Hastily responding with a "Hello," Natalie watches in a mixture of shock and awe as the woman plops herself into a plush chair, dropping a large bag at her feet. The woman -Dess- rummages though said bag, pulling out several needles and what looks like some kind of... ink?

"Want a tattoo?"

The question is so unexpected, so out of the blue, that Natalie can only stare wide-eyed in response as the true meaning of the question sinks in.

When she finally finds her voice, it is still in a tone of disbelief. "Um...is it normal for tributes to get tattoos before the Games?" Even as she asks, she can already guess the answer. Ripred knows that there had been plenty of nudity and exposed tributes in Games past, and Natalie was fairly certain that Heather Tenley had been lacking of any kind of artificial mark, ink or otherwise, on her fair skin.

Yet even as the seconds tick, her interest is piqued. For while other girls might shy away cringing from needles like they were vermin, Natalie had been working with them for years. And it's evident from the finely crafted pictures adorning Dess's arms that the woman knows what she's doing.

She's nodding before she realizes it, even as her mind is racing with the thousands of different possibilities of what and where such a picture would be placed. "What are some examples that I could get?"

Her voice is quiet, careful. Normally she'd treat offers of permanent marks from people she just met with suspicion and wariness.

But if she's going to die in a couple of weeks anyway, then why the fuck not?

YOU ALWAYS TAKE IT FURTHER THAN I EVER CAN