Carefully, she'd said. Pulling the shirt over his head without wrenching his left shoulder out of its socket or sticking himself with a pin turned out to be easier said than done. For just a moment, Jaime missed his squires.
"I noticed this shirt had short sleeves," he said from behind the screen. "Is that normal? Where I'm from, short sleeves on a man mean he afford long ones. Or he's a smith who's trying to avoid setting his clothes on fire."
"As for color..."
He paused for a moment. At home, he'd always told the tailors "Lannister colors" and been done with it. It might be nice to have a little variety.
"I like red and gold well enough, but YOU are the artist. I'll bow to your judgement."
He had gotten the shirt off without incident, but he winced as he pulled one leg of the jeans off too quickly and stuck himself with a pin.
"No white, though," he added as an afterthought. "I'm not very fond of white."
Obviously an Ivy League league college, then.
"I noticed this shirt had short sleeves," he said from behind the screen. "Is that normal? Where I'm from, short sleeves on a man mean he afford long ones. Or he's a smith who's trying to avoid setting his clothes on fire."
"As for color..."
He paused for a moment. At home, he'd always told the tailors "Lannister colors" and been done with it. It might be nice to have a little variety.
"I like red and gold well enough, but YOU are the artist. I'll bow to your judgement."
He had gotten the shirt off without incident, but he winced as he pulled one leg of the jeans off too quickly and stuck himself with a pin.
"No white, though," he added as an afterthought. "I'm not very fond of white."