Sketchy grey and blue mechanical tool tattoo across a side ribcage, with the arm raised above it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mechanical tool tattoo on the ribs

Ribs · Mixed · Photo

A mechanical tool design, with parts resembling blades, a gear and rounded fittings, sits diagonally across the side of the ribcage. The linework is loose and sketchy, with soft grey shading and small blue and purple accents on the gear and edges. The composition is cropped to the torso and raised arm, with a partial tattoo visible at the left edge.

Ribs Mechanical Gear Blade

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The stern gland has been weeping since Hythe, and by the time you reach the lock the bilge is slopping over your boots. You kneel on the cold deck with your uncle's multitool open in one hand, its blades fanned out like the spokes of a broken umbrella, and you work the little brass gear until it bites. Ned never trusted a tool that did one job. He used to say a thing with three ways of opening is always ready to disappoint you.

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Nothing moves. The fitting you need sits under a rounded collar, the tight, stubborn housing that has swallowed grease and river silt for thirty winters. You try the long blade, then the short one, then the hooked edge you always thought was decoration. Behind you the lock gates groan and the water sucks at the hull, and somewhere on the towpath a dog barks at nothing. Your fingers have gone white and clumsy, and you are about to throw the whole thing into the cut when Mrs Pardoe leans over the balance beam with her flask and says, "You've got it backwards, love. The hook's for the nut, not the pin."

You turn the tool over. She is right. The edge you dismissed as a flourish fits the nut exactly, and the gear, which you had been treating as a lock, is only a ratchet that tightens as you turn. The gland gives with a small, satisfied crack, and the weeping stops so suddenly you can hear the ducks on the far bank.

You sit back on your heels and watch the sun catch the blue on the gear as the gates swing wide. Ned would have said something dry about it taking you long enough. You fold the blades away one by one, and for once they close without a fight.