“Ah, fucking damn it all!” he swore as he opened the cabinet and parts of his magic resistant armour spilled out. His bloody helmet struck against his knee with one of its wing tips on its way, rolling merrily under the seat by his writing desk. He hissed as he rubbed where it had cut him. “Oh no, Handy, you don’t need a second armour stand. You don't have the room! You can fit one in your cabinet when you’re not using either. ‘Sides, you’re almost certainly going to find use for that fucking bathtub on a bloody airship one of these days, right? I hate past me.”