stamped, addressed, in odd fatality

"Gray, dear, must you look so...drab?"

Cripes...not this again. Ever since Masha had ferretted out that Gray was Houseless - what might be called a defector if he ever told anyone where he might have defected from - she'd been on his tail about his "unbeguiling" fashion sense. He was a covert op, not a mannequin, he'd told her, as über-shortly as possible and even more gruffly than usual, but she'd tapped a platform-heeled dress-up shock to the equally drab tone of the City platforms and argued, incontrovertibly, that that mane of odd blond hair wasn't doing him any favors.