Sweeney looked at the shimmering glint of her eyes welling up and he shook his head. He knew her, because she was in essence, quite like himself. He would've done it to himself, had he the ability to heal like she could, but he hadn't even considered going that far with his own body. The scars he held were more symbolic of his life than any design that could be put there intentionally.
He took a sip of the tea, testing its taste, and finding it different but not unpleasant, he nodded. "We all have our own place we find when pain comes to us. Mine is a spring morning, from in my youth." And then he said, "Relax and enjoy your tea. I'll get things prepared. Have you decided where it is you'd like to have a scar?" He asked, taking another sip from his cup.