[Tonic notices. he does hope that he hasn't irreparably damaged the pleasant rapport they'd been establishing. after taking that still-unlit cigarette out of his mouth with his clumsier hand, he reaches across himself to pull down the sleeve on his good arm.

as the fabric is peeled away, it reveals a sleeveless top with a high collar, pale skin, and a light scattering of scars. it's easy to assume that they're just the result of living a hard life in a tough world, different sizes, different shapes, different situations he's found himself in... until his wrists are visible. those scars are many, and intentional, and very, very telling. they're old, fading with time, but that doesn't change the fact that they are there to begin with.]

What's next is that I apologize for being mean, I think.

[unfortunately, he sounds a little... formal about it, his tone is just a little too crisp and polite compared to before. either he is trying a little too hard to tread carefully with Tek, or--more likely--he's trying not to let on that he's getting a little nervous. he smiles at his opponent, one side of his face catching up after the other.]

Would another piece of clothing even the playing field, do you think?