( ataraxion. ) IC INBOX

[postscriptum]

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[postscriptum]

Nope. [ but she still turns over her arm to make sure that it really hasn't. it's still just numbers, no letters. ]

[expect]

I guess I'm just special. ( his lips thin. )

I did speak to Petrelli about helping out in medical.

[postscriptum]

So they change when you get a job, 's that it?

[ no one's mentioned that. ]

[expect]

I dunno. When I first arrived I spoke to a woman who said they changed for… departments, or something like that. I didn't think it did it on it's own.

[postscriptum]

So that's what's happened, you think? That'd explain it, at least.

[expect]

Yeahh… ( he gives in to the urge to run his hand over the tattoo, feeling for anything under the skin. ) But how? No one could have broken in while we were asleep and changed it.

[postscriptum]

Maybe it's not actually tattoos.

[expect]

Maybe. ( he rubs rather hard at his skin with his thumb. ) It's not sore, and I can't feel anything underneath. I met a woman who more or less wanted to cut hers off.

[postscriptum]

I saw that. [ actual network stalker amy pond. ] Wasn't just more or less, was it?

[expect]

She did still had both arms last night… ( giving her a quizzical look at her admission of stalking, and btw he totally slipped out at 2 am last night to meet strange women and probably hadn't thought to mention it. )

[postscriptum]

Going 'round meeting other women behind my back, Mr Pond?

[ well, she's got nothing better to do, does she? than stalking. ]

[expect]

You know me, I love mad women. ( dryly, and he gives in to a growing urge to flop — okay, more like list — until he's lying on his back sideways on the bed. despite the joke, there's evident frustration in his voice. )

Her name's Johanna, and she's a mess. But she might've been right about the tattoos.

[postscriptum]

[ more quietly: ] You're not going to try and hack your arm off, are you?

[expect]

No, ( he says thoughtfully, ) But if it is more than a tattoo, I wouldn't mind being rid of it.

[postscriptum]

Looks like it's more. [ a beat. ] How?

[expect]

I'm not sure. ( he frowns. ) I don't even know what it is properly.

[postscriptum]

We can find out. [ probably, hopefully. ]

[expect]

Someone might know.

[postscriptum]

So we ask around, yeah?

[expect]

Yeah. ( with a little less determination than amy. )

[postscriptum]

[ at least they're in agreement, then. not that amy expected anything else. her hand returns to his wrist, though, thumb tracing back and forth over the tattoo. ]