Ruckus starts to fade out a little while waiting for the cigarette, distracted by the anchor tattoo on his own hand between the thumb and forefinger, trying to remember when he got it and why. Even after Kellen relents and allows him the smoke, he gets entranced by his own abused skin, looking over himself like he's just noticing fuck, he's done some shit. Ink and silvery scars everywhere, one hiding the other in many cases. But eventually his lidded eyes fall over the mass of scar tissue at his side, and the simple sprawl of letters inked just over it in an arc, Leech. Damn sure remembers getting that and why.

Instead of an answer, he takes a careful drag, eyes drifting closed and freed hand laying carefully just over the letters, like they were just done and still too raw to really feel, despite the much older bullet wound they're adorning having so little actual feeling anymore. "Ya don' know... what shit means." He says again, quieter, maybe not even really to Kellen, but this is something he doesn't feel like he needs to explain, even to himself.