The investigator's cold, evaluating glare remained unchanged as the hoodlum before her produced a knife. She busied herself running down the list of possible explanations. Not many people would be so confrontational unless they were inebriated or involved in the same kind of business she was, only without the desire of existing under the radar. Through calm deduction she found the answer she was looking for: she didn't care what his motivations were. However, standing there with a knife to her throat and staring at the man holding it was a good way of keeping her distracted from the situation. She did not recall verbally promising to Thomas Morgan that she would not spill blood in his country, but it would be wrong of an executor of the peace to bring her company to foreign lands unannounced and begin killing people in the streets. Additionally, the promise had always been to herself, she did not want to give in to bloodshed anymore. The man's response was measured, in a way, at least in the sense that she agreed with his logic. Maria Trinan probably looked like a drunk, belligerent girl too addled to recognize danger, in his situation Maria would have probably grabbed a knife too. She smiled faintly, and after a silent moment, replied, "I'm sleeping here, I don't like having the constabulary close by." She wondered what Mullenites actually called the guard, but it wasn't as if she didn't radiate foreigner to begin with. After another pause, she resumed, "Put your knife down, I'm not fighting you. One more time, as a soldier, I want to know why people are dying where I'm staying." She spoke slowly, evenly, waiting for even the slightest flinch from the man. In her estimation, he wasn't about to ruin his chances by attacking another person, but at the same time she didn't exactly want him walking away because then all the trouble would be on her hands. What an unfortunate choice of inn.