This, ( fingers raising to his own chest, drawing the "Y" starting from one collar to the next, dropping down his chest, over his stomach-- ) I can see that. Got some of those myself.

( no explanation because fuck that. he's not secretive about that bit of his history, but definitely doesn't feel like digging into it right now. he's more curious over her shit. ) But that-- ( hand moving up to his own arm, where her stitchings were. ) isn't from an autopsy. Someone yank off your arm? Decide to throw it 'round and play bat with it?

( then, jokingly, ) You a zombie?

( he asks questions, but his tone is lighter. playing rather than demanding. )