Her protest at being called a thing only gets a dismissive snort from a Goodfellow who is only interested in playing semantics when he is the one initiating the game. There's too much to lose in playing, right now. Too much potential information.

And he's been in need of more of it since arriving in Darrow. Constantly feeling out of his element has gotten very old, very quickly.

Giving a toss of his head, running a hand through his wavy hair to gather it out of his face, he addresses what little information she has given him in return for opening his own mouth. "A lot of work for someone like that around here?" he asks, before following the tease up with a disclaimer. "I haven't met a psychopomp in a very long time. They tend to be too serious a bunch for my tastes, in my neck of the woods. No fun at all, actually."