Tugged by the tie and ordered to strip. Rufus must be in a mood tonight, the sort that he's only barely acquainted with. And in this place, who knows what tastes Rufus has acquired. His absence from whatever timeline Rufus previously inhabited has been a yawning void between them since his arrival here, and he is as curious as he is darkly amused.

"Yes, sir," he says again, without hesitation. The tie around his neck is unknotted, placed upon the gleaming top of a nearby nightstand with care. His jacket is discarded similarly. It's only when all of the buttons of his shirt are undone that he takes a moment to breathe, aware very suddenly of the image he is about to unleash. There have been scars between them before, but this one is...

He takes a step forward, close enough for his knees to brush upon the bed where Rufus lays. It is difficult now not to be caught between the two meanings behind the ugly, jagged scar across his stomach. In that accursed room, among the blood and detritus, it'd felt like his last hope for salvation. Here, he cannot help but wonder if it is the thing that will make him so imperfect that he is simply not worth anything but a swift discarding. Either way, he'll face his fate impassively and slowly pull aside the halves of his shirt for Rufus to see.