Black and grey realism tattoo of a revolver above a lace garter with a bow and script lettering, on the outer thigh.

Revolver and lace garter on thigh

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A shaded revolver with a detailed grip sits above a lace garter band that wraps the thigh. Below the bow, a small script line is partly visible. The image is black and grey, with soft shading on the gun and fine linework on the lace and bow.

Realism Thigh Revolver Gun Lace Garter Bow Script Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pass above Vell Hollow shuts with the first snow, so we set out the day after Michaelmas with three mules and my aunt's lace packed in oilcloth. Aunt Ottilie had sold lace in four valleys for thirty years and never once been robbed, which she put down to the quality of her bows. Father's revolver was at the bottom of the second crate, its grip worn pale by his hand, wrapped in a length of black net. I told myself it was for the wolves.

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Two riders came down out of the cloud where the road bends at the cairn. Their horses were lean and their faces were the colour of the rock. The taller one asked what we carried, and I heard my own voice say lace, which was true, and that it was for a bride in the next valley, which was not. He lifted the oilcloth with the end of his rifle. Under the top layer lay a garter of flowered net, and the bow stitched at its centre sat as neatly as a sparrow on a wire.

My hand went toward the crate. Instead I found myself lifting the garter free and drawing it across his saddle horn, the way Aunt Ottilie taught me to show a customer the drape. I said a man of his height would look well in a finer pattern, and that a bride's garter was no use to anyone sitting in a snowbound cairn. He laughed, a short ugly sound, and then he didn't. His companion was already reaching for the mule's halter when the taller rider tied the bow loose around his own wrist and looked at it for a long time.

We reached the far side before dark. I took the revolver out in the hollow, unwrapped it, and set it in the snow. By morning the drifts had taken it, and I was glad. Aunt Ottilie asked after the bow when we sold the last of the crates, and I told her the wolves had been given their lace.