#antonipls

[owwencavendish]

@antonipls

Owen always did enjoy Chinatown, with its vast array of Asian cuisines, odd curiosities and lively atmosphere. So when his crew leader had mentioned needing someone to pick up a shipment from a tattoo parlour up that way, he had jumped at the opportunity to take a trip over, and perhaps make a few pit stops along the way. One short trip on the New York City subway and he was bombarded with new and interesting sights, sounds and smells.

Lǎohǔ Wénshēn was a lovely tattoo parlour by Owen’s standards. Spacious, with walls covered in intricate drawings that were likely sourced from the resident tattoo artists themselves. It was a far cry from some of the hole-in-the-wall shops he would occasionally pass by, exchanging bags of illicit goods in exchange for suitcases full of cash. It was eerily quiet too- when he had walked in, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Perhaps he had arrived far too early in the morning? Then why had the door been unlocked?

“Er, excuse me? Is there anyone here?” Owen approached the desk, frowning to see that the receptionist wasn’t around. It didn’t quite seem right to go poking about, but if Alex needed something from the Triad, he couldn’t dilly-dally that much. “I’m here about the thing! You know, the doohickey? Blimey, am I the only bloke around?“

[soleilfournier-blog]

☼ @antonipls ☼

     A tattoo hadn’t been something he’d been considering until recently. And, until recently, he’d had no plans put in place. But there was a painting of his, a favored, beloved painting of the sky above his summer home in Bordighera one sunset. Beautiful blues, pink clouds - something he’d treasured and kept hung up above his bed in his apartment. He figured that he ought to make it permanent; he was an artist, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t get tattooed for fear of being jobless. He was his own employer, and this was what he wanted to do.

     Walking into a shop, he looked around at the mostly open-space floor plan. He had an image of the painting on his phone, as the painting itself was too large to be comfortably toting around New York City. “Hello,” he greeted the first person he saw, hoping that his thick French accent wouldn’t make this an incredibly difficult process. “I was just wondering about making an appointment... is this a good time...?”