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

Standing guard wasn't exactly out of the question for him.
"Eeeeeh I guess, chief. But if you ask me, I don't trust the gith. Better keep
an eye on him."
Don't trust the skull...
As I made to search the armoire in the corner of the room, its handles
suddenly yanked out of my grasp and the drawers slammed themselves
shut. A disdainful “hmph!” issued from the cabinet...
I blinked in surprise. "Hello?"
"'Hello,' indeed." The armoire gave another hmph! "So, what have we here?
A rogue after some lady's frilly undergarments, hmmmnn?"
"You talk?"
"Do I? Why yes, I do." Its voice was slightly pitched and just a touch nasal,
but the armoire had an air of well-spoken aristocratic dignity to its voice.
"Who are you?"
"I am Luis. And who are you? Thoughtless, uncouth fellow, rummaging
about in other people's things..."
"Never mind that. What are you doing here?"
"Well, sir, if you must know... I am being an armoire."
"But why are you being an armoire in this brothel? Are you a Sensate?"
"I happen to have become an armoire because I want to be an armoire,
thank you very much. It's not to watch the ladies undressing, nor to have
them place their soft, sweet-smelling undergarments in my drawers where
they can rub against my skin. Such accusations are an insult to a practitioner
of the magic arts... I am merely soaking in the experience of what it means
to be an armoire. The sights, the smells, the sensations..." his hinges rattled
with pleasure.
"I like this sod already," Morte sniggered.
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