"Blood is blood. It should be taken care of." Though how the Inquestor deals with it might be a bit...unique. He wipes his shimmer-cloak across Kefka's face, letting clean the skin, before letting it loose to lick at Kefka's hands.

He runs a hand over the cloak, smoothing the folds. "I know you wouldn't have hurt me for long. And I would have deserved that pain. There have been too many times when I've come out of a similar rage, only to find what I care about in tatters."

A sigh. It has been a long time since he lost control, but he still remembers the overwhelming hatred - for himself, for the system - that was only ever alleviated through pain or violence. But unlike Kefka he always had somewhere else to run to - a bar or brothel where he could throw punches in losing fights until the rage subsided.

He shrugs away the memories. They are from a life long gone. "I...I will be. Just..." Another sigh. "I recently did something foolish to one of my own children, and its been bothering me. I shouldn't have let that worry spill over into my understanding of you."