She almost (almost) did a double take at Dorcas' comment and the purple-haired woman definitely just went up a few pegs in her book. A sword stand? Righteous. She actually returned the smile. That added to the unknown familiarity started...what, was this a potential liking? Like, girl talk and sleep overs and painting nails? She shook her head, pushing all of that away and followed her into the hall that felt, well, quite welcoming.
"Yeah, this has got Rome written all over it," she acquiesced to Jack's description. It all felt like...well, not home, exactly, but perhaps...a bit like the masses that the nuns had the orphans attend from time to time. A gentle sense of calm pervaded her, though in the background danced the thoughts from before. Blood. Killing. The joy of slaughtering one's enemies on the battlefield, screaming defiance and anger and rage and hate and... Strife. Something in that word encompassed it all and for once she stopped denying it for just a moment.
She, too, turned to look at Jack as Dorcas did, unaware of the accusing stare she was giving him. Trespassing where he was unwelcome; then she started wandering around, looking at the elaborate carvings on the walls. Stories that she felt like she knew a hundred times over - a hand went out to touch them, running over the cool marble.