(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

There was no rush. Curious as to what the Dustmen had on tap, I strode
towards the bar. The zombie behind the counter lazily.
"Er. I'll have what's most popular here," I said.
"Anything alcoholic for me, thanks," if Morte had eyelids he would've
winked at the corpse, "So where're you buried, beautiful?"
I rolled my eyes and sipped from the cup the zombie handed me. It was tea.
Cold tea, weak and bitter as if drawn from the dregs of leaves that had been
re-boiled every day for a week. The bitterness was dull like the edge of a
worn dagger, but there was an unusual body to it that I couldn't quite place.
I couldn't see myself taking a second sip.
"Excuse me, do you have any honey?" I asked.
"Shh. Chief, I might be able to get a little meat in motion here."
With a sigh I turned away, giving the brew another taste. Perhaps it'd grow
on me.
A woman harrumphed beside me, "Looking for something with flavor in a
Dustman's bar is like looking for a loophole in a baatezu's contract."
I looked over to see an elderly woman who, in turn, blinked and stared at
me, "La, look who's come a-calling on Sere today... death's dearest son." She
looked me up and down, then shook her head in disbelief. "By every Power
and its mother, boy... what crypt did you crawl out of?"
I smirked, "Well, the crypt was losing its charm, so now I'm looking around
for the right place to die. Know of anywhere?"
To my surprise, she barked a laugh that rattled my ears. "Ha! Not here...
unless you want to die of boredom." She pointed to my cup then raised her
own, "Three-Ashes Tea. Stuff calms the mind, helps in meditation. Me, I just
like the taste."
"Is something wrong?"
Sere grimaced, "Tchhh. Someone pinch your sense and your sight, boy?" She
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