He got up again as soon as he'd healed and did the same thing again, following the same curved line across his stomach, jagged with the effort of pulling the small knife through so many layers of flesh. When the came even with the starting point, he brought the knife straight across, gashing down and up, leaving a diagonal line. What he got was a jack-o-lantern effect. He pulled the knife out and admired his work.
There was blood all over his hands now, and as he ran one through his hair he left a trail of scarlet in the green. "Maybe so," he murmured, watching the blood run and Remy's healing factor struggle to keep up. "Maybe so."
He snapped back to attention, smiling. "But the fact that you've started in on the petty insults means I'm doing something right. So good for me! I'm on the right track." He leaned in very close, until they were practically nose to nose. He shook the knife at him, so close to his eye that he nearly poked it. "Funny eyes you've got," he said, his own wide and staring. They had a bright, slick look, the black in them too black, the whites of them too white. "How'd that happen?"