TRIGGER WARNING: Callie gets a tattoo. Also, all the mind-screwery you've seen before. Seriously, if there's a chapter you skip, it should be this one.

Brand

Typecasting is real,
So choose how you want to be seen.
If you're known as a clown,
A hero, a villain,
It will stay with you.
Don't ever take a role,
That leaves an unwanted mark.

"And if THAT'S the BEST you can do, then maybe we should make sure you never get hired again!" The director's so close his spit flies in her face, and Callie flinches back.

"I'll do better," Callie says, dropping her eyes. She twists her hands together and fights the urge to bury them in pockets that aren't there, not on this outfit. "I will. I-"

"You'd better," he snarls, turns, and stomps off.

Callie covers her face with her hands. Her cheeks are wet, and she sniffs, fighting back any more tears. Holding the phone upside-down for this scene was her mistake, no question, but if she hadn't gotten so flustered she could have made something out of it. She's supposed to be a bit air-headed, after all. Laid back, laughing, silly, prone to doing ridiculous things because she can, even as she orchestrates a crime spree for purposes only gradually becoming clear to the viewers as Mr. Fish's grand plan starts coming together.

Instead she stuttered all over herself when the person she was talking to called her by name and then she repeated herself and yelled. Like she didn't know what she was doing.

Someone touches her arm. Callie sniffs and raises her head. One of the make-up artists smiles at her. "He'll cool off pretty fast, don't worry," she says. "Come on, we need to do your tattoo before you leave today."

Callie frowns. "Tattoo?"

"The magical artifact they talked about last season, remember?" The woman offers Callie a hand, and Callie's never been so relieved to take it. "The octopus thing. Having that's supposed to be a sign of Big Changes coming, so we want it for all of the last season and the ending of this one."

A tattoo, though. Callie frowns. "It's... I don't want a tattoo." She doesn't stop following, though.

The girl titters. "It's not a real one. More like those stickers all the kids wear when little but longer-lasting." She glances back at Callie and rolls her eyes. "It does kinda sting, but we've got massage tables set up. You're about the tenth person today to get yours. Lie on your stomach, face in one hole and the right part of your stomach over the other, and just relax."

That does sound nice. And something that just kinda stings? She can do that.

Besides, she's been here for... for... how long has she been here? It... they haven't celebrated Squidmas, the leaves on the trees when they go on hikes are still green, it can't be that long.

It feels like forever.
It feels like no time at all.

"You haven't used the massage tables yet, have you?" asks her coworker. She gives Callie's hand a squeeze and tugs her along faster. "Have you ever had a realmassage?"

Callie shakes her head. "Me and, uh..." who was it? "Friends and I would do little shoulder massages and stuff, but never a profreshional one." Not just shoulder massages. Whenever she takes out her bow after a long day of filming, she can almost feel someone else's hands there, soothing away the hurt and stiffness, like it's something that should happen. Something that happened a lot. With... someone. Must have been a long time ago.

"A real massage can be a bit hard to get through, but you feel so good the next day," says her coworker, stopping at a door. She opens it into a room with two tables and a steaming rack with limp towels folded over it. "Trust me."

Callie does. She gets herself situated on the table, and her new friend places a hot towel on the back of Callie's neck, and that alone feels so good that Callie sighs and relaxes into the table, her nose pressed into the opening, part of her stomach clear for the tattoo. When she puts another hot towel on each of Callie's wrists and ankles, well, Callie didn't know that could make her so relaxed, but it did.

"Are you ready?" asks a voice Callie doesn't know. "We'll start with a light massage, then the tattoo."

"I've gotta go fiddle with the lights for the next scene," says the squid who brought her here. "Have fun!"

And oh, as someone's hands (and tentacles?) press into Callie's back, she melts. She didn't realize she was sore until this started soothing the hurts away, and she's almost asleep when she feels a light prick on her stomach, like a needle poke.

Callie tenses. The hands on her back soothe it away.

Another prick. Then more, It blooms into a full ache in her hip and stomach area. "W-wait," she mumbles, because this is more than just stinging. "Stop."

It doesn't stop. It gets worse, spreading through her side like fire, and Callie tries to get up. But she can't move. Firm hands press against her shoulders, kneading away the tenseness there, and the towels on her limbs may as well be shackles; she can't even push herself away from the table.

The pain gets worse all at once, like a knife or a fire, and Callie screams, gasps in for breath, but she can't move. "STOP!" she screams, she can't remember what language she's using but she tries again. Screams to stop, screams it again and again, in every language she knows and just screams as her side catches fire and hands press against the backs of her legs, her arms, everywhere she tenses to try to get away.

She can't even focus enough for squid form, not with those hands on her, soothing away every tense muscle, deliberate or not. And her wrists, her ankles, Callie can't move.

"I'm so glad you're enjoying this," says someone in her ear.

Callie's tears soak the padding around her face. But she can't move.

And it doesn't stop. It doesn't. It doesn't. Callie shouts herself hoarse, for them to stop, for help to come, but no one is coming.

"We knew you'd like it," says another voice.

Because... because they're not doing anything wrong, are they?

Because she knew this would sting, and she's just being a baby. She's just—

"You're ours, now, and you love it," says a third voice.

The next bit of pain makes her gasp, but she can't make a sound. She's being a baby.

"You can never leave."

She wanted this. Didn't she. Because she's an actress.

And she can't back out now.