✘ CLOSED / ft. nishiguchi akira ( @descorts ) at yami ink for a scheduled appointment

❝ curious things, birds, ❞ orson muses aloud, thoughtful. it is unclear whether he is speaking to anyone in particular ― as it were, akira is the only other soul in the room, but there is no preamble to this particular conversational shift ― or muttering to himself as he is often wont to do. irises that appear as raging storms belie the calm curiosity of his words as orson eyes an inked image of a crane. ❝ pneumatic bones, ❞ continues the man, clearly on the precipice of being lured into tangent, ❝ are not entirely exclusive to our avian cousins, of course. your skull is also filled with pockets of hollow, cavernous bone. ❞ there's a pen in his hand, an off shade of pale white gilded in delicate gold plating. when he taps the tip of cool metal against the highest point of his cheek, it obscures wicked smile. ❝ as is mine, take no offense. but therein lies the trouble, doesn't it ? there's no practical way to transcribe anything with shards of sinus cavity. never mind the illegibility, it'd tear right through the paper. ❞

he eyes the pen curiously before placing it on the table, turning his gaze toward akira as a hand lifts to loosen his tie and pull it over his head. ❝ bird bones, though ! ❞ begins orson again ; deft fingers make swift work of unfastening a row of buttons up to the collar as he speaks. ❝ while ours are dense and porous, hollow only but for a meaty marrow center, theirs are filled with interlocking pockets of air. ❞ starched cotton slides from pale shoulders mottled in swirls of shadowed ink ― an as of yet unfinished design ― and orson folds the shirt with careful precision. ❝ extensions of their lungs, morbidly enough, not entirely for the purpose of flight. but even ancient peoples recognized the practicality of these natural chambers. when properly sharpened, the bones could both retain ink and deposit it beneath the epidermis. not only a pen, but a rudimentary tattoo needle, if you will. ❞

bare skin puts on display hours of work the artist before him has already invested in his organic canvas. this is not the first time orson lloyd has sought out the hand of nishiguchi akira and surely it will not be the last ! an artisan himself, he is a staunch proponent of passionate craftsmanship, and upon deciding to adorn his body in art, he was patient and diligent in his search for the right artist. at this point, he suspects there is nary another soul he'd trust to leave a permanent mark in his skin. there is an understanding, a bizarre kinship of sorts, between akira and himself that transcends the world of tattooing. it keeps orson loyal. well, that and his innate talent. he wouldn't waste his time returning to an amateur.

orson reaches for the pen again before he approaches the table where he'll be sat the next several hours. ❝ i expect most of the birds in new york have died by now. pity i couldn't find any, i did look. ❞ the writing implement is held up on display and then out in an offer. ❝ this being locally sourced, therefore, was not made from a bird. if you uncap it, you'll notice there was a nib added to compensate. ❞ it's a gift in the same way that a feral cat might drop a dead rodent on the doorstep of a human who's shown it kindness ; unwrapped & borne of staggering cruelty ! ( he does not celebrate holidays in the same ways as most, but he's taken a fondness to crafting that allows him an assortment of hand-carved trinkets this time of year. ) he moves to sit on the edge of the table. ❝ how has the winter treated you, akira ? well, i'd hope. ❞