[ Peter grumbles under his breath at the correction. It is fully possible he utters the phrase, “splitting hairs.” At Charlie’s question, though, he tugs his own satchel closer, cringes when he realizes most of the contents of his bag boast a smear of blood from when he had rummaged through earlier. ]
Crap.
[ Bitten out softly, barely voiced. There’s little to be done about it now, though, and he pulls out a crumpled shirt with only a small blood stain on it. He tugs it on, regardless, the stain somewhere on the shoulder, and self-consciously adjusts the collar, lifting it to hide the last remnants of the Mark from view. ]
no subject
Crap.
[ Bitten out softly, barely voiced. There’s little to be done about it now, though, and he pulls out a crumpled shirt with only a small blood stain on it. He tugs it on, regardless, the stain somewhere on the shoulder, and self-consciously adjusts the collar, lifting it to hide the last remnants of the Mark from view. ]
Where’d you learn all this stuff?
[ With a nod toward Charlie’s bag. ]