Happy Monday. For those following along with my outline, you might notice some changes. In the outline I ended up putting the tattoo in the last of the boo. As I was writing I decided it belonged at the front so I shuffled it forward. Yeah my outline has gone from crisp white pages to all marked up already. I knew it would, I just didn’t think it would be this early in November.
Day 9
Ames made it to the shop but paused outside. He slipped a hand into his pocket and felt the edge of the paper. He thought of Garana’s letter. ‘What could it hurt?’ he again thought. Ames pulled his hand out of his pocket and reached for the door. The bell over the door dinged loudly.
There were six chairs but only two of them were occupied by patrons. The set up oddly reminded him of the beauty salons his mother visited when he was younger. There were chairs placed in front of mirrors and tables laden with tools.
‘No hairdryers though.’ He found that a relief.
Ames took a deep breath. The air smelled antiseptic, but with a trace of something metallic. One of the staff walked over to the front counter and smiled warmly at him. Ames noticed that while at the university his features marked him as strongly different from those around him, here, he blended. His hair, his eyes, his skin. There was no one in the space who didn’t share the similarities with him.
Ames reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper.
“What can I help you with?” the person behind the counter asked.
Ames held out the drawing. The man unfolded it. His smile broadened. “Nice,” he said. “Names Marp, I can get you hooked up with that.”
“Ames,” he replied. The two talked details, Ames paid and before he could second guess the decision, he was in the chair, his shirt off as Marp made a stencil of his design.
There were no questions about it. Nice was the only comment regarding it at all. The only thing Marp wanted to know was size and where Ames wanted it placed. After some debate, Ames chose to have the design placed over his heart.
Ames was braced for pain but over all, he found the sensations strange but not terribly painful. He had certainly suffered greater pain. The contrasts were interesting. The cleansing wiped made him shiver but the actual inking of the tattoo felt almost like a burn. That surprised him and Ames frowned, thinking of Folson.
Marp paused his work. “You okay,” he asked.
“Yeah it just felt like a burn for a second,” Ames replied.
Marp snorted. “I look like a Couran to you?” Thee was amusement in his eyes and of something else shared.
“No,” Ames said. “But I saw a burned sigil on someone’s wrist.”
Ames said the words before he thought about it. He waited for laughter. It didn’t come. Instead Marp nodded.
“Seen a few,” he said. ‘Not often, just enough.”
Nothing else was said. Marp went back to work and Ames kept silent and still as he worked. A part of him wanted to ask questions. A part of him didn’t. Mostly he decided it was better to get the tattoo and not risk messing it up by upsetting the man inking it into his skin.
The design was eventually done. Ames looked at it in the mirror and by looking down at his skin. The flesh was raised. Black lined on reddened skin. There were streaks where he bled and it was wiped off with an astringent cloth.
“The red will fade and it won’t look burned,” Marp assured him.
Ames nodded, approving the work. Marp smeared antibacterial ointment on gauze and taped it over the fresh tattoo. He put his shirt back on and followed Marp back towards the front. Ames was given a list of dos and don’t for his healing time as well as a tube of ointment and fresh gauze to take with him. He was sent on his way.
Ames left the shop and while he was sore, he found that he felt better for having gotten the tattoo. ‘It was something I wanted to get but didn’t for fear of what others would think,’ he told himself. Still he knew he got the tattoo more because of Garana’s letter than for any reason of his own. He let his thoughts of the tattoo fade as he went to the food card and shifted into thoughts of his stomach.
Time seemed to accelerate. Classes were winding down and the early papers were turned in along with the applications for the dig team. He graded essays and sorted through the applications. He put in requests for equipment and found that the dean seemed inclined to grant nearly any request he made. So accustomed to having to argue about his need for equipment and funding, Ames was momentarily non-plussed by the ease with which his requests were granted.
‘There are fewer digs this year,’ Ames thought looking over the lists. ‘And they are already outfitted.’ He tried telling himself this was the reason. With everyone else already sorted, he didn’t have to fight with anyone for the remaining funds.
Then he started seeing the news reports. Many were on the large medical facility being built. It was a monster of a compound and was touted as being the facility that brought medical care to areas with out it. While he was certain it would provide much needed services, when Ames looked into the details thee were also large private wings, many attached to medical suites favoring plastic surgery and other elective procedures. In fact to Ames, most of the facility looked more like a private hospital where the wealthy could recover from elective surgery in private and comfort.
‘With a small basic hospital tacked onto the far edge of the campus.’ He took some time to look through the documents that the project was required to post for public viewing and decided his estimation wasn’t far wrong. Because of the general hospital section they were allowed to use the public lands for the facility, but the bulk of the project was for the private sector.
Looking at the news reports, Ames realized he wasn’t the only one who picked up on this and debates raged. Folson was featured a lot, although he was careful to keep his arms down and wrists covered. Watching, Ames realized that his dig was partially to appease public outcry. He could see the logic used.
;If we weren’t building the hospital in the area then we wouldn’t have noticed the town site and we would have lost out on a potentially important historic site.’
Ames shrugged. It wasn’t the first time his work and the work of others were used to prove that someone doing something hinky had the public’s good in mind.
‘As long as they realize I am only talking about the site, it should be fine.’ Ames suspected he might be asked to speak to the camera at some point and made a mental note to avoid mentioning any thoughts regarding the hospital complex. As his site was physically separated, he didn’t think it would be too big a problem.
As the semester wound to a close and preparations began in earnest for his departure, Dean Halliwell made more appearances on the news as well. Ames noticed he too was careful to speak only about history and not mentioned the medical complex, even when asked directly. Ames found a certain satisfaction when the Dean noted his numerous articles, years in the field and excellent work as the reasons he was chosen. The praise was made even sweeter by the continuing dark looks Bacol favored him. Ames shrugged them off and chose his team for the dig season. Figuring that knowing who Bacol’s little spy was rather than guessing who might be furnishing the professor with inside information, Ames accepted Lement’s application, adding him to the team.
Gear was gathered, and applications approved. Ames poured over the available images and data provided by the initial survey in order to come up with a basic plan of attack. His tattoo healed and the left-over ointment went into the cabinet along with the left over gauze.
Ames went through his own apartment. He began using up every available item in his fridge or freezer that could spoil while he was gone. He made certain no laundry was left to molder away in the basket while he was gone and he began to pack his gear.
He was a little disheartened to find that the only one he really needed to notify about his absence for the next few months was his landlord. To make up for the feeling, he found himself watering the practically mummified plant every day in the week before he left. It didn’t seem to make a difference, but he found he wasn’t able to stop himself.
‘It will be desiccated again before I return.
