[ the cig's fine. it doesn't bother her. she knows plenty of smokers, especially in the field. it's overrun with mature older men with plenty of voices - whiskey, cigars. she smells the pair of them together so often that lara can't unlink them anymore. as such, it's not the cigarette that gives her pause, no, it's the sprawling splash of ocean blue that crawls across rhys' arm, over his chest. a tattoo, she knows, but she watches him work for a moment, her head tilted. it reminds her of something, but... she's not sure. a bird? ]
...A tattoo. I'm surprised.
[ he'd looked so business-y. where does he work where tattoos are even allowed? she can't help but voice the thought with a curious tone. ] A lot of companies don't permit an alternative look. How'd you get by with one so big?
no subject
...A tattoo. I'm surprised.
[ he'd looked so business-y. where does he work where tattoos are even allowed? she can't help but voice the thought with a curious tone. ] A lot of companies don't permit an alternative look. How'd you get by with one so big?