Styx wasn't foolish enough to think that the sudden shift from wanting to learn and make conversation to wanting to know the best way out of the Underworld was not at all a reaction to Hate's question. Someone didn't like being made to feel a moron, did she?
“Of course I do,” she said smoothly, “if you're leaving so soon.”
Her hands folded over her knee and she watched the Egyptian carefully. “For someone who proclaimed a desire and love to learn, you certainly changed your tune when I attempt guide you toward how to not be an asshole to someone you recently met, insulted, then stalked to her front door... all without knowing a thing about her actual character.” Styx sat up a little straighter. “Which you don't. You don't know anything about me other than the mediocre bits of bullshit penned by men, who barely were bothered for facts. You don't know what sort of goddess I am. Am I kind? Am I cruel? You just don't know.”
Reaching for her wine then, she drank but instead of setting her glass down, she held it still in her hand. “You know my son's character, but not mine. And he's been living under Zeus' influence for the past several thousand years. I'm here... alone.” Styx gave that a moment to sink in while she took another drink.
“So, since you don't have a grasp on who I am, personally, would it not be prudent to ask situational and observational questions to figure that out? Especially when you are in a place where you may need my help to find your way out safely.” She shook her head. “Is there nothing benign you could ask conversationally that would not force me to relive some of the most painful memories of my life with a relative stranger? Look around this room, for instance...” There was the book she had been planning on reading, photographs of her children, other bits of décor that pleased her...