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

fingers...
"Dak'kon!"
In a flash the door slammed open and Dak'kon leapt into the room, blade
drawn. His eyes widened at the sight of me struggling with an armoire as it
let loose a girling shriek, but without questioning anything he swung the
blade in a full arc, stabbing it into the slit and using the leverage to pry the
drawer open. Together we strained, grunted. I cursed under my breath,
sweated and pulled. Hinges rattled and the lower drawer shot open,
cracking against my shin and bruising the bone. Luis flung everything he had
at us... panties, brassieres, small bottles and makeup kits, one of which
caught me in my immortal jewels. The pain was numbing, and the flurry of
undergarments blinded the both of us as Luis unleashed a bloodcurdling
shriek.
"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
"Morte! Think it's wide enough?!"
"I'm on it chief!" and with a giddy shout he dove into the drawer as Dak'kon
and I fought to keep it open.
"Mmmph. Stop! Stop, I say! Watch the handles! Don't scratch the finish!
Curse you, you prying filth!" The armoire continued with his valiant effort.
Morte on the other hand, was taking a little longer than he needed to...
"Gods dammit Morte!"
With that a round, hard skull leapt out of the drawer and caught me in the
chest. Dak'kon pulled his blade out of the armoire in that same instant as I
fell back and collapsed breathlessly onto the floor. A translucent, crimson
veil brushed over my chest, and as one fold fluttered over my face I couldn't
help but smell a light, exotic, and most pleasant fragrance wafting from the
cloth.
"Sorry, chief. I was just taking a swim."
"Damn it! You rogues! Blackguards! Scoundrels! You give that back this
instant! That's not yours! That is an exceedingly personal garment that
belongs to a lady of this establishment, and they would not appreciate you
555