[u][b]Luke Schwarz--RTB[/b][/u]

And that, it seemed, was enough to tide the eighteen-year-old pugilist over. An easy enough end to leave things off on, in the hands of much more experienced sleuths than he or any of his peers. 

Instead, he spent the short walk back in a comfortable, tired silence, idly examining his bared arm and lamenting the loss of the jacket's sleeve.

[i]Still, though, better a sleeve than my arm. That Byakko is one heck of a weapon...[/i]

He glanced over to Ciel, trying to read her for a moment and not doing an exemplary job, before looking back to the forearm. Perfectly healed, the only sign of ever being damaged in the first place lying in his memory.

While it wasn't a flashy or particularly offensively powerful semblance, it was hard to deny that his was useful.

[i]Now if only it made things hurt less...[/i]

Baby steps, Luke.