"Metal bands?" Angus repeats, taking the phrase as literally as it can be taken - much like Greta, who's trying to figure out what else it could mean, presuming it has nothing to do with the things that hold barrels together or what have you. 'Legit' is similarly unhelpful, to no one's apparent surprise.

But 'cool,' and what follows, are a bit more enlightening, and Greta shakes her head, her hands still pressed over her cheeks. Yes, she's done things most people probably wouldn't do, but she hadn't expected anyone else to see that as a good thing - not necessarily, anyway. She knows some of the choices she'd made without shame or hesitation would make other people squirm; her husband certainly wasn't impressed with her until she'd managed to obtain Rapunzel's hair. Even just speaking generally, most people back home don't smile upon those who wander off the metaphorical path.

How odd to be appreciated for that very thing. Not bad, but definitely odd.

Almost as odd as the bizarre little punch Iman throws her way, and Greta swats back at her with a proper laugh. 'Embarrassment,' indeed. "Well," she starts before realizing she has no idea how to finish it.

Angus leans over to look at Iman, either recovered from his own bashful spell or bolstered by the fact that everyone aside from the crow has abandoned any pretense of dignity. "What are the other reasons?" he asks, a deliberate layer of obnoxiousness not quite masking genuine curiosity.

"Oh, stop," Greta scolds him.