For the SkyrimKinkMeme. The Dragonborn is interested in tattoos, but their first experience involves a lot more body paint, and perhaps a lot more fun.

Katla had always had an eye for strong men. Big, burly, strong men. The sort who charged into battle without fear, because they knew they were the best. Maybe it was the arrogance. Or maybe it was the tattoos. After all, each and every one of them seemed to have scars and tattoos marking every visible inch of skin. Some of them even used paint. It was intriguing, and she found herself staring at the pigments more often than not. It was especially bad when she was home in Markarth, and had to face Argis across the dinner table.

"Katla?" He pauses expectantly, drawing her attention from the contemplation of the pigment on his face.

"What?" Katla feels herself blushing, but tries to pass it off as normal. She hasn't been wondering whether her housecarl has any other tattoos on his body, or where they might be. A good girl like her would never imagine exploring his muscular frame to find every tattoo.

"I was just asking if you still wanted that Ebony Shield you left in the..." his brow creases as he frowns and squints at her. "You're staring again, is there something..."

"Oh!" Katla shakes her head vigorously, hoping he can't see how embarrassed she is. Her fair Nord skin doesn't hide anything, and is probably crimson by now. "N-nothing!"

"If it's my scar..." He doesn't bring it up much. It's been a bit of a sore point, and the only time she'd ever mentioned it, she'd been rebuffed. So she doesn't talk about it, instead just letting it be.

"No. No it isn't your scar."

"Then what is it?" He fixes her with a level gaze, his good eye on her face. She tries to meet his eyes, but can't. She doesn't want things to get awkward, and if he realizes what she was really contemplating, things will doubtlessly become awkward.

"It's..." she swallows her nervousness. She is the Thane of Markarth, the Dragonborn, the... getting into her titles, even mentally, is not helping her. There are too many, and all it does is remind her that she should be above this. "It's your tattoo."

"My tattoo?" The disbelief is evident in his voice. She might has well have said it was the second head he was growing.

"I've always wanted one." It's not precisely a lie. She's always wanted to be able to touch one, though she hasn't put a lot of thought into one staining her own skin.

His lips quirk into a half-smile. He didn't believe a word she was saying, but he also wasn't going to call her a liar outright.

"I know someone who does tattoos..." he lets the words hang there. She wonders if it's the challenge it feels like, or if she's reading too much into. It's hard to say with Argis.

"I'm not sure where I would want it though." She hopes that's enough. That he'll let it be. But again, it's Argis, so he keeps going.

"I have some paint, you know." He pauses, lets that sink in. "We could try it out."