colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra

Now that Hati was, unexpectedly, miraculously, annoyingly cast out of Hell back into the world of the living, however temporarily the change of scenery may be, he had taken to haunting the familiar ground that had been Imperium during his life. His last memories of Daegmar, those that hadn't faded as much under the years ground down in the depths of the afterlife he'd earned, had been here. Here had Valentine Imperialis earned his obsessive loyalty, such as it was. So here he'd plant his paws and wait out this weird half-life. Sometimes he found himself fading in and out of corporeality, and he'd been incorporeal as his very grouchy consciousness floated around the barrows. He thought to simply pass by the woman rummaging through the shiny junk on the foot of one of the barrows but between one "step" and the next he felt his... spirit, soul, ectoplasm, who the fuck knows.... gather itself and he felt his paw come back down on the ground with an almost-real pressure. He was pleased to feel the weight of the bear-skull mask upon his face this time - it seemed to flicker in and out sometimes, sometimes replaced by the ram's skull but often naked and bare and the flickering was as unsettling to him as to anyone who saw him. So the familiar, comforting weight of the bear settled over him and made him the bear, the killer, and he turned his heavy, ghostly head toward the woman and said the first words that came to his mind. "You look like a fucking magpie," was his gruff, almost offended observation.