"Oh, pardon for being a bit too cold to ask," He remarked back just as testily. They had days of walking ahead of them, they had time for their life stories later! But after the glance spared her way, his eyes were fixed on the new opening in front of him. It was a bit too convenient they had found this place, or something like this. He ran his fingers over the inscription, cursing himself for knowing barely any khazalid. Then again, even a dedicated class would only teach so much. The dwarfs guarded their secrets jealously. Absently, he remarked, "My name is Malcador." 

He heard her chuckling, and it broke what little patience and concentration he had. He whirred on her. "What!?" 

"It's a bit cliche, don't you think? Definitely a wizard's name. 'Malcador'." She snickered. He looked at her like she was crazy, and then his mood was corrupted from amazement to frustration and derision. 

"So we should all have names common as grease?" He asked her with barely contained arrogance, and that brought a scowl to her face. 

"Hannah's got spirit!" She countered, and she almost looked like she was about to spit on him. "Malcador sounds like something made up!" 

"All names are made up!" He yelled.

"You know what I mean!" She exclaimed like he was a fool. He was about to call her the most blasted insult, before he took another route and vented his anger in a slightly more productive way.

"Look, just cook the damn fish so I can figure out what in Sigmar's arse is on this stone, please?" He asked, gesturing at the strange stoneworks behind him that screamed 'read me!.'

"You cook the damned fish!" She spat spitefully, tossing it to him with a contemptuous fling of her hands. Malcador caught the flying fish clumsily, now intensely aware of the clammy dead thing in his lap. His lip curled in distaste. He was going to grab it, but instead he rubbed the bridge of his nose instead. He doubted they would be so at odds back home, even if they were world's different. It was the damned cold and the blasted hunger and the thrice-poxed greenskins. 

"Alright, fine! I'm sorry. You find us a good stick to shove into this thing, and I'll cook it, then we can share it. Deal?"