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When Marx had begun surveillance on the Byakuya’s residence, he’d discovered the oldest daughter often walked about the house in little more than a brassier and short shorts- a habit which revealed that most of her body was covered in colorful tattoos. The inkwork was a far different style than the marks of the brotherhood, rather than being bits and pieces hers were a sweeping whole as if an artist had used her skin as a canvas. As he watched her on the monitors Marx idly wondered over the stories her body told, and how she might react to his own.