“We’re not actually in Orlais, despite my accent,” she says, dryly, of fashionable. “And fuck all is protecting me when I’m locked in place closing a rift, which is why I won’t be completely relying on a stranger to keep the demons off me no matter what your answer is.”

Her working wear is halfway between particularly stylish elf and particularly slutty pirate; an armoured corset added to a striking set of leathers, but it’s not plate, exactly. The thing that protects her is being fast and, when that doesn’t work, not being an idiot about who’s watching her blind side.

It’s a true answer; it’s also a fundamental dismissal of the premise of the question. Livia isn’t relevant enough to insult her, and the challenge rolls off her as less interesting than the information she does consider immediately pressing.