[Oh Sasha. He was really starting to like you. At the mention of his face, the indication of his scar, he jerks back, eyes narrowing, a scowl twisting his mouth--I got you beat--and he finishes zipping his backpack up with a hard jerk before standing up straight, glaring.]

Really? I didn't realize this was a fucking contest to see whose life was shittier! [it's a snarl] But hey, great, when some psycho straps you down, hacks off your lower jaw with a surgical saw, then pushes his fingers into the gaping wound that is your face and draws patterns on the floor with your blood while you bleed out, and THEN brings you back to life and forces you to painfully grow your jaw back layer by layer over the course of a week, you can talk to me! [snapped, furious, before slinging his backpack onto his back and moving to storm out of the store]