Woah, woah, woah! This crazy enchanted armor lady is cruisin' for a bruisin', and it looks like he's the one who's about to get bruised. Harrow startles at the sight of the extremely judgmental bot and her crackling Light. He knows that anything that looks like Light usually ends with undead reclining in chairs as a pile of ash. It takes a second for him to remember the anti-violence field, but it's no great consolation. How does he know it works? How does he know this lady isn't the one who set it up? As with all things, the only thing he knows for certain is that he knows nothing.

He sits up on the chair with his legs bent and ready to bolt if he's got to. His hands draw near to his body and he tries his best to force a smile. It doesn't look very genuine.

"Har–Harrowheart. Y-you some kinda guard? Am I – I'm not breakin' any laws, am I?"