His head jerked to look at her, and she stood her ground despite the inward flinch she gave as she expected to feel the sharp nip of his teeth in her flesh. That was how she had learnt she was pushing too hard - a bite or kick, a clear warning to back off. But nothing came. She could not tell from his expression what was going through his head, whether he was amused or annoyed at her insistence on asking about every caveat of his lifestyle. You're morbidly curious for a good girl. She couldn't help but chortle. "Whoever said I was a good girl?" she asked, one grey eyelid dipping in what could only be described as a wink. Perhaps on another mare it could have been considered flirtatious, but Nyx was about as sultry as a mossy rock. As for his impression of her as a good girl...well, she could understand his reasoning. She had flown into his life like a blast of wind, her initial fear of Aramis evident; the fact she had followed that up with thinly-veiled disgust at his murderous lifestyle would certainly have given him the impression that she was one of the good ones. Perhaps that was true - she certainly didn't run around killing anything that looked at her twice, or anything that looked different from her. Yet she was no stranger to battle, no stranger to bloodshed; could any beast who considered themselves to be wholly good ever be a warrior? Surely their desire not to hurt would overwhelm their desire to protect? The iron woman truly had no idea where she sat on the alignment spectrum, as it entirely depended on the circumstance. But she was not a virginal, naiive child; she had lived, and she had suffered. 'Good girl' might be pushing it - 'semi-decent girl who can sometimes do the wrong thing for the right reasons' would be far more apt, if a bit of a mouthful.

He followed his comment up with a question, and a shift of his body to look at her head-on; she could not hold his gaze for long, and lowered her muscular neck to stare at the ground beneath his feet instead. "I don't know," she said truthfully - he had been honest with her (or so she assumed), so she owed him the same courtesy. "I've known a few racists in my life, but have never been in a position to ask them their motives. I fancy myself as a woman of action, a woman who can be useful to the Edge, yet I know the biggest enemy I will face here is racism, and I can't stop myself trying to find out the reasoning behind it." Know thy enemy, and all that. Not that she ever hoped or assumed she would be on the opposing side of a battle to Mauja; quite the contrary. She fidgeted, looking into the middle distance; perhaps his question was a hint for her to leave, and stop interrogating him. "Maybe I should go," she said - a clear out for him. If he wanted her to go, he could stay silent. And if he was willing to answer her questions...then he could say as much, and the mare with the curse of curiosity would be only too happy to listen. The balls were completely in his court.