[He's a little surprised to hear that she thinks he's good-looking. His expression, eyebrows raised, makes it seem like he's never been called that in his life. He closes his eyes after a moment.]
... You had better not scream, then.
[She'll understand what he means when he unbuttons his shirt down the front and shrugs it off his shoulders. Pale as he is, he's littered with scars. Some of them look to be burns, some shrapnel, some made by proper weapons, but none of them are older than a year. There are more scars on his arms, though the vast majority look to have been made by something sharp. His left arm bears the worst of it, and the bandages there look rather recent-- and a little bloody, too.
no subject
... You had better not scream, then.
[She'll understand what he means when he unbuttons his shirt down the front and shrugs it off his shoulders. Pale as he is, he's littered with scars. Some of them look to be burns, some shrapnel, some made by proper weapons, but none of them are older than a year. There are more scars on his arms, though the vast majority look to have been made by something sharp. His left arm bears the worst of it, and the bandages there look rather recent-- and a little bloody, too.
He just looks resigned.]
Let's go before I change my mind.