Not willing to cut

I like this bit SO MUCH.
Don't make me cut it. :'(

"At the moment, Ire almost looked like he’d been dragged through the profanities of either excrement, the underworld, or both. He barely resembled the Ire Matthard conferred with the day before. When dressed in peasant brown and sporting a distinct lack of hygienic care, he looked—

Well, he looked out of place. There were some things even cunning and knowledge that bordered on the psychic couldn’t overcome.

Ire’s natural poise was one of them.

“You look like a nobleman slumming it.” Matthard noticed. Ire scowled, the action making him look just the tiniest bit more peasant-ish. If you were scowling, it meant that something was wrong in your life, which was intrinsically peasant-ish.

But on Ire, it looked like someone had picked out the wrong pair of shoes for him.

“That’s what Selah wasn’t telling me. I thought so.”

“You’ve tried well, it’s just… your stance.” Matthard leaned back on one leg, fingering the stubble that he hadn’t had the time nor razor to shave.

“What about it?”

“If you were trying to say that the world owes you something nonverbally, consider it done.”

“Peasant attitude is surprisingly hard to imitate,” Ire commented, his eyes tracing from Matthard’s face down to the heavily mutilated bundle of papers Matthard had been wringing the ink out of only minutes before. “Are those your notes?”