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

Annah furrowed her brow at me skeptically.
I expected the tailor to balk at the suggestion, but he took it in stride,
"Perhaps. Enchanted as well, I presume?"
"Of course. She's a skilled... acrobat. Something she could move freely in.
That sound good, Annah?"
Annah looked abashed, "Well... aye. Aye, that could fit."
"And armored. I'd hate to see her hurt."
"And make her mams look bigger. But not too top-heavy unless you can do
something about her legs too."
"Stow it, skull!" she looked at me with a growl, but beneath her acerbic tone
I could tell she was blushing, "I don' need yeh ta tell me what I want, I
don't."
I put my hands, "Sure, sure. You tell the man, we'll talk prices afterwards."
Goncalves was a fast worker, and by the time we returned from our
afternoon meal he had them laid out on the counter.
"Aren't you going to try it on?" Morte waggled his tongue as he floated
around Fall-From-Grace.
She merely smiled, and Dak'kon folded up the chastity bodices in the crook
of one arm. The woman had a presence about her, a way of lifting an
eyebrow or pursing her lips that made you want to do things for her. You
begin to think that a lady like her shouldn't be carrying any burdens.
"I have more than enough faith in Master Goncalves' abilities," Grace said
simply, "I trust that they are more than satisfactory."
Annah stepped out from the changing room, posing this way and that,
swaying her hips and testing the way the cloth held to her in any way she
could. The blue was a nice contrast to her rust-red hair, even if it did seem a
little garish.
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