It matters not what I tell you. You… have already passed judgment upon me – haven’t you? [A beat passes and he cocks his head, a low, murmuring laugh escaping him.] …Of course you have. [He presses a hand gently to his tattoed chest.] I am a most grievous... affront to your sensibilities; the most dreadful and ugly of creatures that the good Lord Himself created. [Emotions aside, it is difficult to speak so cooly and confidently when fiercely cold in little more than leather, a pathetic excuse for armour, and a cloak. He does his best to keep from shivering before this man, far too proud to ask for anything to throw on.]