Badd looked up. He scrutinized Skulduggery, scratching at his permastubble with his thumb. "Well, you're not hideous." He rattled off the man's vital statistics--approximate weight, height, eyes, all the things a cop learned to note at a glance so they could write them down later. "You've got this weird habit of deadpanning, plenty of emotion in your voice but none in your face. Guess that makes sense. You're not used to that whole facial muscle thing. Being a skeleton and all."

God, the things this place made him say. Badd nearly winced at the bizarre nature of his own statements. "I'd say you should practice so you don't freak people out, but honestly everyone who's been here more than a week has a raging case of PTSD anyway. On the freak scale you're still pretty low."