Pit is often covered in an array of bandages. Why?
Because the stupid angel falls flat on his face too many times to count, often busting his head open like blooming flowers, tripping over a crook of the marble tiles in Palutena's temple. Dark Pit likes watching him trip and stumble and then cry out. It's nothing serious, Palutena always offers to heal the countless blisters and bruises he gets.
But no, no, Pit is insistent on wearing bandages. "They're my war scars!" He exclaims proudly and poses with hands on hips and slicks his hair back with the other.
It's stupid, but Dark Pit is humored by this. Sometimes he'd even trip the other angel just for laughs - though it was often a restrained laugh and he'd look away to hide his smirk as Pit whines, fussing over it.
"You're a threat on these holy grounds, you know-" Pit approaches Dark Pit one day, with even more of the bandages tied tight around his forehead and his thighs, to which he scraped a nasty wound just the other day - a result of the ash-winged angel's foot.
And all Dark Pit does is sneer at him. "I'm afraid the true threat is you. You broke a lot of relics from tripping over nothing and you crushed my wing once."
"But that was one time!" Pit cries in shock and pouts with his bottom lip jutting out, folding his arms and looking the other way. His ivory-moon wings fold in flat against his back.
He waves a hand dismissively. "You should be glad I'm not giving you a concussion instead. Would you like that?"
Pit laughs nervously and quickly excuses himself with frantic ocean-feathered eyes.
Dark Pit grins at his retreating back.