It's superficial. I woke up with a cut on my hand, and didn't think too much of it- but when I went back to sleep I wrapped it up, right? I woke up and it had lengthened and traveled.

[He says, submitting to her shepherding and sitting down. He pulls the pillowcase away, painlessly since the blood hasn't had time to dry on his skin, and dabs it clean once more. The wound is about as long as Rogue's palm now, bleeding freely, and as you look closely at it, it travels. The progress is slow, but visible to the human eye. Someone or something is tearing a cut along Ricki's skin, down his chest towards his belly. It closes, but not quite at the same speed as it opens, such that it lengthens as it goes.]

Took five years off my life, coming to in a puddle of blood, elbow to heart. It's also gone clean through a couple of tattoos-

[Rotating his strong shoulder to show her a swallow he picked up during his years on the ship. The ink is undisturbed.]