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Summary
(The USMC's change in tattoo policy means work in Atlantis.)
"It's less beauty pageant than prison booking," Lorne said as they strolled through the strictly controlled chaos.
"They may be reprobates, but they're our reprobates," Sheppard replied, tilting his head to look at one of the shirtless marines. "What is that?"
Lorne followed his gaze to a forearm that was covered in an impressive network of smaller tattoos that worked together as a whole. "It's what would happen if Hieronymus Bosch had done Where's Waldo," he finally answered. "That must have taken days."
"And if I hadn't had command of two hundred marines for two years, I'd have wondered how he could have stayed drunk for that long."
