Malik's own manners are shot, between the fresh throb in his shoulder and the fraying hold on his temper having yet another woman stare at him is very nearly the last straw.

"What? Never seen someone missing an arm before? Need a picture?" He snaps, fixing her with a glower.

Its probably a lucky thing the black outer layer of his robes hides most of the telltale cut of the whites beneath. He resembles nothing more than a cross between a very harassed raven and the scholars of Jerusalem.