So that was a gun? Greta gapes at him, mostly thrown by 'slugs' (because those are soft little garden pests, not deadly projectiles, and why forge metal ones? It makes no sense), then shakes her head. She doesn't really want to know more, and the Balladeer seems deliberately disinterested in discussing it.

So she leans back in her chair, still a bit tense and unable to keep herself from casting wary glances toward the doors. "Are you supposed to be out there singing about it?" she asks. Not that she wants him to - his current posture suggests he has no intention of going anywhere - but if someone's going to get all huffy because he's not out there... well, forewarning would be nice.