Cold, schmold. Stacia met his gaze with her own and held it. Then she raised her hands, palms toward him, open and non-threatening.

"I'm not asking to try and trick you and get inside your head, I'm asking out of a genuine desire to assist."

She turned her hands around and wiggled her fingers. Remember those chipped nails she'd been so concerned with earlier? She'd been asking questions like it was her job (it was), so she ought to offer some of her own answers in exchange. People liked talking about themselves, sure, but not when they thought someone was trying to take advantage of them.

"I do it too. Don't get me wrong, I love my mani-pedis and my cute clothes, but I'm usually running around in the woods. A full face of makeup and a mini-dress and wedge heels? Not exactly practical. It makes me look like a silly little girl. But everyone I hang out with looks more like you, so me trying to butch it up would still look silly and it wouldn't get me anything."

She lowered her hands and let them hang loose at her sides.

"I'm not asking for your real story. I haven't even begun to earn something like that. I just want to know the story you want told."