ink on a pin, underneath the skin

Brienne seems to think about it for a moment, then she gets rid of her leather jacket, again, and while this time she’s wearing a regular blue t-shirt, he can properly see how exactly her arms are covered in ink, differently from last time.

Holy shit. He can barely see skin at this point, or better, he can, but it’s not smooth or uncovered for more than a few inches.

“Let’s say,” she sighs, “that I got one every time I felt in your specific situation.”

Or: in which Jaime really needs a tattoo removed and Brienne owns a parlor.