Stacia smiled in the face of death (stare) and inclined her head in a bow.

"Ronan," she repeated. "And here's me not even caring if that's your real name or not."

She'd bet good money it was though. Tough boys were so easy to needle that way, with their posturing and their "don't give me cutesy nicknames". She giggled and told another 'story':

"The last guy who glared at me that much lets me babysit his kids now."

There were details she was leaving out, a lot of them, but she waved them off.

"Listen, Ronan, I genuinely do not care about whatever secrets you have unless they become my problems. I look closely at things and I ask questions because back home if I don't? Someone could end up doing a lot of damage with the world's purest intentions. I'm not a keeper of stories, but a questioner of them. I find the holes in things and I can either shore them up or break them down."

She was doing a bit of double-talk here. Maybe he wasn't going to get that now, but he might get it later when he'd calmed down. Angry people don't think things through, that was the shortest story of Stacia's world.