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

I examined the twisted little imp-like creature, sculpted out of pure, milk
chocolate. "It looks delicious, does it not?" Vrischika purred, "Imported from
the Lower Planes. These are rare, you know, and quite prized by lovers of
chocolate and confections. It's a real quasit - a fiendish familiar -
polymorphed into chocolate by powerful sorcery. It's only one hundred and
ninety-nine coppers."
If I could milk a proper response out of that childish oaf of a mage, it
would've been worth it ten times over.
~~~~~
The mage's expression curdled as he spied my approach. "Unbelievable!
You've chosen to curse me with your detestable presence once more, you
ill-conceived, reeky sod?" He paused his haranguing to eat a small
peppermint. "I pray you've learned yourself some manners!"
Reeky? Now that's just low. "I've brought you some imported chocolate, as a
gift."
"Oh?" His demeanor changed in an instant. "Very kind of you, very
gentlemanly! May I see?"
"Actually, no." If I were a few centuries younger I might've stuck my tongue
out.
He reared back, totally flabbergasted. "WHAT?!"
"I really don't think you deserve it. You've been so rude."
"You... you what?" He began hopping about. "Preposterous! Farcical!
Ludicrous! RUDE would be polymorphing you into a bowl of Baatorian
spice-beans, eating you, and then spreading you about Sigil in foul-smelling
little puffs from my bum! THAT would be most rude, I assure you, and I have
been nothing of the sort!"
"In any case, you're not getting it until you've apologized."
He immediately became quiet, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You would let
me see this gift, first, at least?"
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