Posted on Mon Aug 31st, 2020 @ 9:03pm by
Mission 4: Letting the Hair Down
The tattoo parlor was on a quaint street in the resort town of Derbre, a coastal city on Risa. The display window housed things that probably would never be sat touching one another anywhere else. A wooden Buddha with worn gold leafing. A mounted row of Bolian pseudo-technical prints from their pre-industrial period's book of enlightenment. A studded Targ skull. Clay disks with mandalas drawn by Deltan monks. A Ferengi treble nose flute. Oversized bone dice with Nausicaan numbers hewn in. A small broken off frieze replica from a Betazoid temple.
Ozzie's fingers hovered in front of the glass, looking at the characters in the frieze. They had the accoutrements of Tholta. Stone tablets, incense orbs, scales of justice. Probably whoever threw that piece in there just liked it for the bric a brac cultural aesthetic and knew nothing at all of the Tholtan Order. It wasn't the one she was raised in. She'd grown up under the Priestesses of Altha. But it was familiar to her, anyway.
Ah well. She wasn't here for the decor anyway.
Ozzie pushed open the shop door and the jangle let them know she was here. "Welcome." Said a darkly skinned Risan girl with a pile of hair. She was filled with more studs than the Targ skull and sporting white inverse tattoos in mostly flourishing floral design work. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I'm sorry. I'm traveling with Starfleet. We're here on leave. I was just hoping you'd be able to slot me in."
"Ah, yes. We serve many travellers." She motioned to a glass display wall and the sweep of her hand brought up a selection menu teaming with visuals. "These are some of the works of the artists available today. Let me know what style you're interested in and I'll see if that artist has the time for your request."
"Thanks." Ozzie paged through the styles. She honed in on one that handled lots of technical looking linework, but with a biomorphic edge. There were lots of bionic figures and creatures that were half robot and teaming writing mechanical snakes. "Is this guy free?"
"You like my lines?"
Ozzie's eyes refocused to the other side of the display glass where one of the artists was talking with the receptionist. He was Orion-green, stocky and short, maybe just clearing five foot, and he had a bald head and a beard half as tall as himself, or at least it seemed like it. "Yeah, I think it's just what I'm after."
"I'm Sal Keeves. Peggy says we just got a cancellation.” Ozzie couldn’t help but notice the way Sal’s beard wagged when he talked. “Come on in. Tell me what you're thinking."
Peggy handed Ozzie a Padd with a waiver and Ozzie signed as she followed Sal past the curtains at reception and into the back where there were a number of tables and others at work on their body art. Sal started giving her the standard issue spiel about what to expect and Ozzie just peeled off her shirt and hopped into the chair.
Sal shut up when he turned around from his work bench and found the Betazoid in her bikini top, her toned torso completely covered in lightly lined ceremonial filigree tattoos. Obviously she knew what she was getting into when she signed the waivers.
"Here." Ozzie said. "Under my collarbone, just go over this stuff. I want a spiky borg cybernetic design that looks like it's just grown outta me. Make it just a little over stylized so I don't get mistaken for turning borg and knifed by my crewmates when I change in the locker room, though, okay? And these." She reached into the pocket of her wrap skirt and handed Sal a list of shortened names and initials. "Hide them in the design."
Sal looked at the names. They didn’t mean anything to him but he knew, to a fleeter looking for ink in the shape of borg augmentation, some heavy shit went down for one Lt. Ozanna Isuri. He regarded her as she laid back and stared into the ceiling. “Sure thing, Chief.”