“I'm not sure,” she said, eyes only giving the man a passing glance.
Yes, her aunt pushed, as she said. Of course she did. And, as she said, she also worried and hoped and loved. She did all those things. Ereshkigal did them with ferocity and fire, like any hot-blooded woman from their land should. Which is suddenly what made Ninkasi feel so incredibly naive that it never occurred to her that after having gone to speak to her aunt initially about her troubles with Kratos, after having gone through the trouble to descend into Irkalla for the conversation at that, that eventually Ereshkigal was going to want some follow up on it.
Looking down at her glass, she sighed. Even if she got through this without giving information she didn't have: and half-answers were not going to suffice, nor were I don't really know answers, there wasn't really a chance that the inquiries were going to stop with today. And if the answers Ninkasi gave, when that happened, were not ones her aunt particularly liked... that wasn't going to put Kratos at risk from her aunt and uncle's wrath, was it?
Her eyes looked back up at the stripper again. “Maybe he's supposed to be a baker. That's his mixing bowl... for cake or... whatever.”