The freak was scuttling around again, but Moss's initial fear of Elin had more or less turned to aggravation and general distaste by then. Clearly, the boy needed a leash, or at least some house training. When she noticed he was hiding away now, she smirked, twirling the hammer in her hand. 

"Aye, you stay there."

The bespectacled man spoke up again, this time to her. At least he seemed a bit cautious, and though she was still cautious of him, [i]she[i] had a hammer, and he had...well, it looked like a box. Besides, she'd scrapped with folks bigger than him before, and unless he was one of those martial-arts types, she figured she and the hammer would handle well enough.

Chris, he said his name was. She was fairly certain she'd never met anyone who went by Chris, but there'd been a handful of Christopher's at the mines, and she'd met one or two Cristof's with the caravan. Which one this boy was, she didn't know, he looked fair to midland for either one, really. 

Her hammer lowered, but still gripped tight, she began to look around again. Nothing caught her attention though, she'd gotten her deal from the room already, and if the two outside weren't dead soon, she'd probably be heading out there herself. But until she heard screams or otherwise, she was sitting tight right where she was.

"Moss," she said back to the other boy. "M'name's Moss. Y'got a pretty fancy tone to you."