Tattoos were an uncommon sight in Liberio, the city where Reiner was born. He recalls glimpsing them on (civilian) sailors sometimes—the people who went to faraway places and didn't have to worry about military regulations regarding appearance. But the idea of getting one himself was never feasible. Possessing the Armored Titan means that Reiner heals too quickly; his body would doubtless reject the ink, wiping it away as if it never existed.

But this tattoo is magic. Painless, as well (though that wouldn't have been a deterrent for Reiner). The novelty of having a tattoo combined with its extra effects is too great a temptation for Reiner to ignore.

So here he sits in a tattoo chair: shirtless and quite relaxed, completely comfortable with having his bare upper body on display. He's as broad and well-built as ever, seemingly at the very pinnacle of good health. However, he still sports a goatee, and there's something distinctly tired in his eyes.

The tattoo that the artist is inking onto his left pectoral is simple: a pair of clasped hands. Not raised as though in prayer, but held as one might hold a lover's hand.

Jumping through magic portals to fight things on the other side isn't in Reiner's wheelhouse. Or at least, it wasn't before arriving in this world. But at the end of the day, a mission is a mission, and a fight is a fight. What else is Reiner to do but carry them out?

He sits on the grass in Blossomcrown Park once everything is over, touch energy drained after the fierce battle. He has no wounds, of course; the blood on his clothing is either from wounds since healed, or it was never his to begin with. But Reiner knows he should make his way over to one of the tents. Ask someone for a handshake or pat on the shoulder. Do something to regain his energy.

Right now, moving to a tent seems harder than all the fighting combined.

So Reiner continues sitting in the grass, his exhausted gaze catching on the cherry blossoms above. Watching as they sway in a light breeze, oblivious to the traces of violence still clinging to people's skin.

Another day, another fight. It almost feels normal, even if the enemy was unlike anything Reiner had seen before. (Maybe that shouldn't strike him as unusual. How many strange things has he seen in this world? How many people would call him strange?)

But there was one too-familiar thing that sticks in Reiner's mind: the enemy tried to eat people. That wouldn't be unusual back home—but here? After what Reiner recently learned…?

It sticks in his head. Leaves him unsettled and restless, pacing the luxury airship instead of pausing to enjoy it. He wanders from one deck to another, peeking in on the restaurants, the bars, the spa. (A spa! In the air!) But he doesn't seem able to stop, too agitated to sit in one place for long.

So on he paces: up and down stairs, back and forth along the lengths of each deck, looking more like he's doing an endless patrol than enjoying a well-deserved break.