The peace-keepers... Gretel just barely kept herself from huffing a cynical breath at that. Not because it was impolite, but after last night, it might be uncomfortable. Her bodice still bore the tears from stone fingertips with sharp claws. Beneath it, her ribs were cracked and the skin scraped in red welts that twinged when she breathed too deep. "It usually doesn't," she answered in earnest. "We try because its better than an eternity of chaos. This place can be a meat grinder depending on who it snags... believe me."
When and where she was from- technically two questions, but Gretel honestly didn't mind. One went with the other, anyway.
"Both Hansel and I are from Germany. The year was 1730 the last time we set foot there." After so long, conveying that information had become normal. By now, she anticipated just about every reaction to it possible. It was no longer weird. More tedious. Now it was her turn.
"I've already gathered you're not human... What are you?" she asked, then reiterated, while leaning her brow on her hand, propped by an arm bent from the table. The piece of Sam's shirt still tied around the thickest part of her forearm, smelling of vodka and dried blood. "Keep in mind, I've seen just about everything at this point, and I have no intention of airing your business to anyone else. I just know how things go here, and I'm trying to help."