[Seems that whatever curiosity he might have is no longer in her purview. Ergo, there's no need to explain herself either. Herselves. Syo can gnatter on like no other, but she doesn't see reason to fill in blanks when no one hands her a pen.

Though — had she spoken up sooner back in the day, maybe more of her classmates would be alive. They'd been so quick to kill each other for prizes that couldn't be won, and she was the only one who knew it.

Where were they, anyway? Wasn't this the afterlife? Where was her damn high school reunion party?

Syo tracks that ashen glow. The slick ease with which he takes his vice. What an interesting fellow. She's never had the privilege to meet the likes of him, even now that she's allowed out on longer leashes. He's as much a trope as she is, only a far more refined one. Slobbering madman versus mafioso don: which would you prefer?]

Aaaaah, I see, I see. How delightful! [She claps her hands with gusto.] A den of theives! Shady dealings, crooked bribes? Oh, it's all such romantic fare! The stories you must have to tell. Anyone who thrives in such a place has my congratulations!

But what am I saying?

[Syo drops into a curtsy, head bowed low, but her eyes remain on his mismatched set. One good, one foul. What happened there? Tragedy, comedy, or high stakes drama — no matter which, she bets it's thrill.]

I don't even know who you are! How do you do, total stranger! I'm Genocider Syo!