Skulduggery wore black leather, old and scuffed and cracked. His boots were thick and heavy, steel-toed and polished to a gleam despite their age. On his left arm he wore a dull black metal gauntlet that travelled from wrist to shoulder, with a hinge-joint at the elbow. Instead of his gun resting in a shoulder holster, it was now slung low on his right thigh. On the other side of the belt there was a sword in a scabbard.
“Whoah,” said Valkyrie.
He raised his head to her. “You didn’t expect me to fight a war in a suit and tie, did you? These may not be as durable as the clothes you wear, but they’re close.”
She looked at the others, all of whom were kitted out in a similar fashion. “Is that what you wore during the war?”
“This,” Skulduggery said, “and variations of it.”
“You don’t even have a hat.”
He reached behind him with a gloved hand, pulled a hood over his skull. “Happy?”