The third beer tasted even better than the first two. Funny how that worked. As she began to sip from it, Joanie turned to Aiden, snorting at his assertion. "Yes, I am a delicate fucking flower," she muttered, throwing back a long swig from her newest Bud. "Old Sol was in Vietnam, and he doesn't even do ass tattoos. No, they're too much for him." Okay, perhaps that was a bit inaccurate. He simply didn't want to waste his time with stupid shit when he had a perfectly good apprentice to do it for him.
As he began to ramble, Joanie stared at him, eyes wide. "I would send your pasty, untattooed ass to another parlor," she said, slapping a hand on the bar. "You write textbooks, anyway, why the fuck would you need an ass tattoo?"