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

Sigil truly was a city of wonders.
An older, stern-looking woman passed by, and with a glance her eyes
narrowed. She stopped, studying me with a disapproving, tight-lipped
frown. The red-armored guard at her side stepped behind her, crossing his
arms across a barrel-thick chest as he stared down at me.
"Good day, milady..." I said with a slight bow. That is what they did here, I
assumed: bow to each other.
The woman nodded curtly, speaking in a tone cold as ice. Her voice seemed
to cut the air, as if she were accustomed to making speeches or proclaiming
edicts. It was cultured, crisp, so unlike the mush-mouthed curdle-tongued
brogue I had been subjected to in the Hive.
Annah's tail flicked idly.
Not that there was anything wrong with an accent, though...
"What is your business here? And watch your words, for I am Diligence,
Fourth Magistrate of the Ward."
I blinked, and my lip curled in annoyance, "Something troubling about my
appearance?"
She huffed, "I should most certainly think so! Should the Apparel Regulation
Act be passed, people of your sort won't be permitted to traipse about in
such a manner, half-naked and filthy as you are."
"This look is all the rage in the Hive, you know. Perhaps you should try it; it
just might suit you."
"Oh definitely," Morte added, "Though you'd better watch out when he's
trying to dress casual."
The woman's eyes narrowed even further. "Do not jest with me; I have no
patience for it. Now what is it you want?"
I blinked, my good humor gone, "You're quick to judge one by their
appearance, aren't you?"
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