All of them had the scars that had come from their upbringing, some more visibly than others. Chikusa's, it seemed, were mostly internal, prone to springing up at the most random times and in the most interesting forms of neurosis. Mukuro peered at the hands that Chikusa was scowling at, taking one of them and kissing the palm.

"You can bathe when the good doctor is done with you. Should I tell you how our enemies were dispatched to keep your mind off of things?" If there was one thing Mukuro was good at, it was talking after all and redirecting and misdirecting thought.