Ridahne's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Pipe dream? What does that mean?" She couldn't tell what the particular idiom meant, but she could at least hear the tone of his voice and see the expression on his face. It told her not to get her hopes up. It told her he was not certain. Out of pure spite, she had half a mind to just poke him right where he'd been shot, but she resisted and instead just growled a little and muttered something in her native language--a jagged, lilting tongue that sounded nothing close to local. 

"Look, don't get my hopes up for nothing. I want to know details. I won't lie, I am tempted by your offer. I think you've figured that out already. But I want to know details if I'm going to do this. I am desperate..." She struggled to admit this but the time for being coy and secretive had passed. They were talking business now and that meant being frank with one another. "I hate this place. I have no food and no money. I need work. But I don't need pointless suicide." 

Ridahne left his side to take something from her bag, a little tin that used to be for coffee or cookies or something--the label was long since worn away--and brought it back to him, kneeling by his wounded side. She flicked his arm away from the area without much of a word. This seemed to be her way--a little gruff, but not unkind, deep down. "Here." She opened the tin and a pungent, herbal smell blossomed from it that was neither pleasant nor foul. Ridahne scooped some of the bitter smelling balm from it and took the liberty of putting it over his wounded skin. She did not ask for permission. "That will help it heal. And take a little of the pain away but not all of it. Now." She sat cross legged beside him, leaning forward with a serious wrinkle in her tattooed brow.  "Tell me everything. What am I getting into? And why?"