Rose slowly picks her head up, her face an odd mixture of frustration, shyness, and anxiety. Muglin hopped around on the barstool on her other side, pecking it ever so often. 

[i]Make him stop talking. Rip his throat out. Give me CONTROL!" [/i] Rose shakes her head, fighting to shut out the obnoxious voice. "Um. . . I'm Rose. At least, that is what I call myself. Who might you be?" 

So far so good Rose. . . So far so-

[i]"Conversing is for WEAKLINGS. Gouge out his eyeballs!"[/i] With that comment from the roommate in her head, she sets her head back down. The last thing she wanted was to start talking to the god, and this was her way of censoring herself.