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(no subject)

Who: Sheogorath and you!
What: The grand opening of the strange new business in town
When: Late August onward
Where: The most asymmetrical building in town
Warning(s): Discussion of surgical procedure, sutures, needles

The building is quite a sight, one half more Queen Anne and the other Italianate. Hanging evenly between the two entrances is a sign, one side reading "St Arden-Sul Surgery" and the other reading "Butterfly's Fang Salon." There are two doors on the same face of the building, one solid, the other ornamented with windows in the shape of eyes and flower petals.

Should one enter the eastern door (the one on the left), they will find themselves in a clinic. The entrance is warm and inviting, and the patient beds look quite comfortable. There are flowers on the bedside table, and the lighting is warm. A colorful stained glass window takes up a large part of the eastern wall.

That feeling shifts completely at around the halfway point of the room, where the place becomes cold and austere. These 'beds' are barely more than surgical slabs, and the floor already seems bloodstained, despite there not having been any patients yet. In the corner, there's a bust of a person screaming in agony. Another window set into the wall looks dusty and grimy despite being new, letting only a little light trickle in.

Entering through the western door will lead one into a charming... and daunting... parlor. A few chairs are lined up against the wall, reclined for the comfort of the patrons. Again, the decor is colorful towards the front of the shop. There are bright, hand-drawn illustrations lining the walls and patterned tiles decorating the floor. The back of the parlor, on the other hand, is ornamented with chains and leather while the floor is rough, gray stone.

For the purpose of the grand opening, the patterned wooden divider that separates the two businesses has been partially pulled back, allowing the two sides to glimpse one another.

Sheogorath is drifting from one side to the other, greeting guests and offering them tea. He's dressed quite smartly, looking much more dapper gent than pure element of chaos. His eyes are what betray his unfettered excitement, their being a kaleidoscopic shimmer of purple and gold.

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"Of course! I'll be trying to be here more often than not, but if you find it hard to catch me, I'm sure you'll be able to reach my receptionist, at least!"

A couple days later, when Max arrives, there are already tea and biscuits ready. Sheogorath is sitting in the waiting area ready, legs crossed, with a sketchbook on his lap. He's got his hair pulled back into a little nub of a ponytail and his sleeves rolled up to just above the elbows.

Max's heart is already racing in his chest before he so much as steps through the door, so tea is a great call. He can't help it. He's nervous, yes, but also excited. As promised, he's been thinking it over at home and he at least knows exactly what colors to ask for to match his loves. The rest is still a little abstract for him.

"H-Hi. Should I sit here or...?"

“Yes, yes, please do! You strike me as a man that likes a hearty, mellow tea. Am I right on that?”

"Wow, you've got a good eye for taste," Max says as he perches on the edge of a seat. "Yes, I do. If I need something stronger, I usually go for coffee. Tea is my go-to for relaxing." And he could afford some of that now with how tightly wound he feels. He hasn't told either of his girlfriends about this, yet. He wants to make it a surprise.

"Sorry I'm so jittery right now. It's not you, I swear."

“It’s a little bit me, but I’m used to that by now,” he chuckles.

“I’ve been nervous jitters since mortals had skin to jitter in.”

He’s already pouring Max the tea, having had everything ready for him.

"Uh..." Max just does not know how to respond to that. He's not being literal, is he?

To cover for his lack of grace, Max decided to pick up the cup and take a sip.

"Mm, this is wonderful, thank you." When in doubt, talk about food. "So, did you have any good ideas for sketches come to you?"

"See for yourself!" he exclaims, flipping open a sketchbook to reveal the first two drafts of full-sized art.

"Wow," Max says, starstruck. It's even more impressive than he imagined. Without thinking, he puts his hand out to touch the page. He could have that over his heart? He almost still can't believe it.

"I like it a lot..."

"I thought you might. You strike me as the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve, so it's not that hard to figure out what you would wear on your heart, eh?" He gives his knee a gentle slap.

"You got me on that one," Max says without a hint of shame. "I like wearing my heart on my sleeve; it's easier for people to get to it that way." Sometimes that's for the worst instead of better, but it's a risk he's already decided he's willing to take.

"Honestly, I don't have any changes. This already looks even better than what I pictured in my head."

“Splendid! Splendid. Let’s have a little more tea to get those nerves steadied, and then are you able to sit for a session today? I’ve got plenty of time set aside.”

Sheo smiles at Max with the same sincerity that Max himself absolutely radiates.

"Yeah," Max answers, before sipping on his tea again. He's so excited, which is ironically making calming the jitters difficult.

"I can. I have my whole day blocked off. I, um, didn't know how long it might be. Let me just take some big breaths."

He does exactly that, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing down with intention until he can feel himself calming. That's already better, but he has some more tea, too, just for good measure.

"Okay. I think I'm ready."

“Before we get started, how about I tell you just a little about the artist, for the sake of getting to know one another. You’re a sincere sort, I feel that might help.”

"Oh, yeah. I'd love that, yeah." He frowns in confusion for just a moment. "You're the artist, right?"

“I am, yes. But considering I’m going to be needling ink into your skin, I think it’s best we be a little better introduced. Especially when I’m likely a fair portion of your nervous jitters.”

"That makes sense, yeah. I, hm. I think I glossed over how intimate that kind of thing might be. Now that you mention it."

He settles back in is seat, getting a little more comfortable and having himself another snack while he's at it.

"Should I ask what inspired you to get into body modification like this in the first place?"

"You know, it's funny you should ask. I'm not sure sure myself. Though I think perhaps it came, at least in part, with my own experiences of changing, and the delight I felt from doing so. Who knows if caterpillars dream of flight, but can you imagine what it's like, the first time a butterfly takes to the air? There's power there, immense and incredibly trivial at once, and it's something I enjoy letting people capture."

"Yeah," Max says a little distantly, "I think I see what you mean." He can imagine it, because he sometimes feels like he is that butterfly, himself. The fact that he's here at all, willing to get a new mark permanently etched into him after fearing that for so long... maybe he should ask to sneak a butterfly into the design, too.

"I think that's beautiful. It really resonates. Especially because... well, actually, once of the reasons I'm so nervous right now is because the last time I had someone mark me it was to put me in captivity. I feel like... choosing it for myself this time is the reverse of that."

A wild look glimmers in his eyes, and a wild smile crosses his face. Does... does he have two rows of teeth?

"Yes! Yes, exactly! To choose, to choose is a marvelous thing. Oh, but it's a frightening thing, too. To choose is to claim power, just a teeny tiny little bit of it, and with that can come expectations. Oh, but it's worth it, every little bit."

Max blinks in surprise because, wait, does he have two rows of teeth? No, can't be.

"It is. You...you really know how it feels, don't you?" Because everyone always talks about how good having a choice is, but fewer people bring up how terrifying it is to have all of that responsibility put back on your shoulders all at once.

"I'm sorry if that means you've had your own choices taken away, too."

“Well,” he sighs, suddenly seeming much older, “That was my choice as well.”

Then he’s bright and chipper again, a tireless spirit in the body of an old man.

“Now, a few more things before we get started. We’re going to need to make sure we keep your work properly covered until it’s healed.”

Max nods along solemnly. Until the change to a chipper attitude inevitably tugs a smile back onto his face. He's still very excited but also feeling a lot more grounded now.

"I've heard that about getting a tattoo," he answers. "Whatever you recommend, I'll follow it completely."

"I'll send you home with some care instructions, too. Can't keep it all in your head, if your head's anything like mine. Sometimes I turn my mind over to read the instructions on the bottom, only to see the words 'KEEP UPRIGHT.' Then I open my mind up and all my thoughts have gotten jumbled up and stuck to the lid."

"I... can't say I've ever felt quite like that. My memory is pretty good, usually." Maybe that's not completely true. There have been times when his memories of things got... fuzzy. But those were memories he might not want to see clearer if he ever had the choice.

"I have my entire recipe book memorized, actually. I'd be really upset if that got all jumbled."

“Well, we’ll send you home with the instructions anyway, so you can keep more space in your head for recipes. How does that sound?”