It’s nothing, shut it.

Dark Pit sits on a chair, watching you tend to the various wounds on his arms. The ones on his legs were bandaged up, and his chiton was lifted up a little to tend to some scratches on his abdomen.

He’d gotten into a fight. He usually was prone to them, but this was a pretty bad one. If you hadn’t come in, he would’ve been dead — or at least seriously injured. He scowls as you accidentally brush your hand against a bruise on his collarbone.