[That one, that one... Three small puckered scars an inch apart that aren't perfect like the tiny cuts or the ones that look like deep arrow gouges. They rip at the edges, like something pierced and then tore itself out of him. He has matching one on his back, opposite it.]

Trident. [Molly sticks his tongue out slightly, relishing the feel of teeth on scars for no reason other than delight that yes, that's mine, and you can do whatever you like with it. He could lie, but the truth is grander and a bit funnier in a way, and he can't resist being clever.] There's another one on my back... Truth be told, getting stabbed in the back and the front at the same time generally goes much better than that for me. And fish persons don't respect safe words at all. Just a note.