A flicker of unease settles in my gut. I can finish it, but it’s going to be close. Still, the result will be worth it. This piece is going to be beautiful.
After one last check-in, I finally start tattooing. Line work first. Clean. Precise. No room for error.
My client, Sheryl, talks the entire time. Turns out herhusband is deployed with the military, and this tattoo is a surprise for when he comes home. The story steadies my hands even as the clock keeps ticking.
When I finish the outline, I wipe her down and send her off for a quick bathroom break. I glance up at the large clock mounted on the wall.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I’m almost two hours behind.
I’d assumed a smaller client would mean faster work.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I wander over to stand between Aksel’s and Eric’s stations, studying their progress. Eric is already more than halfway finished, playing it safe with a greyscale sleeve. Shading and stippling breathe life into a snarling Cerberus. He’ll finish early. No question.
Aksel and I won’t.
Aksel is only halfway through the line work on a Medusa statue piece. The ancient live oak and sweeping Spanish moss he’s adding will bring incredible depth and movement, but it’s ambitious. Maybe too ambitious.
If any of us get eliminated for not finishing on time, it’ll be devastating.
I grab a bottle of water from the refreshments table and head back to my station, rolling my shoulders as I walk. I pass Layla just as she cracks her neck and stands to take her first break, looking loose and confident.
I sit back down and refocus. Sheryl chose vivid blues with sharp pops of orange and yellow, colors that make the sea-green of her husband’s tail glow and set off the pink shimmer of her wings. I lean into the contrast, shaping something strong but delicate, their love made fierce. It fits her perfectly.
Time blurs.
The host’s voice cuts through the hum of machines and murmuring crowd. “Last thirty minutes, artists!”
My pulse spikes. I wipe sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and scan every line, every stipple, every transition. “You still good?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Sheryl says, smiling easily and flashing her pointed teeth. “Getting tattooed is basically therapy for me.”
I snort. “I just need to finish highlights, then we’re done. Need anything before we hunker down?”
“Nope. Wake me when you’re finished.” She yawns, leans her head back, and falls asleep within seconds.
I stare at her for a beat, then laugh under my breath and get back to work.
The ticking clock becomes background noise. There’s nothing left in the world except skin, ink, and precision. One minute and thirty seconds remain as I finish the final highlight on the harpy’s wing.
Done.
I set my machine down and lean back, rolling my neck until it cracks. Eric’s hand slaps my shoulder, making me jump. Only then do I realize he and Layla are already finished. Seems like they have been for a while.
My gaze snaps to Aksel’s station. He’s still working.
My stomach drops. He’s steady, focused, but there’s no way. He won’t finish in time. He can’t win..
Gods, love makes me so soft. I should be happy I don’t have to fight him for first, but now?
Now I almost feel guilty. Gag.
The countdown booms through the speakers as the crowd rises with it.
Five.
