"not my arm" he replied slipping his whit undershirts off, among all the battle scars one stood out the small scar over his heart identical to the others. "2 years ago when you preformed at Seafront" he said watching her peer at the scar. He put the undershirts back on and then the navy blue turtleneck. He got up off the long sofa. He walked over to a painting of his mother on the wall and took it down revealing a safe, he typed in a combination and it opened with a hydraulic hiss, and pulled a few things out: his back pack, a duffle bag, his chainmail, his sword and the black trenchcoat. He placed them on the bed and unzipped the duffle bag and started to pull out a bunch of guns. Gun after gun after gun. 
He turned around and smiled "take your pick".