That was it?<br/><br/>Upon hearing his answer she couldnâ€™t help but laugh at him wondering if she really was wasting her time with this man. She really wasnâ€™t sure why it was so funny to the point where she was laughing so hard she had to stop eating. Back at the bar perhaps she had been so desperate to find a source of entertainment that she just wound up scooping an average Joe off the street instead of the kind of fun she truly desired. While beggars could not be choosers in her case she was almost tempted to just throw him back out into that miserable world and forget about him. It would be a real disappointment if she had to do that, it wasnâ€™t often she felt compelled to throw her guests out. Maybe she should begin to pry a little more and see if this man was truly worth the trouble.<br/><br/>â€œMy, if this is the extent of my company this morning then admittedly Iâ€™m sorely disappointed,â€ the old woman said once her laughter died down. When she stopped laughing the entire room seemed to fall silent, nothing stirring, when that laughter stopped, it was almost eerie. She leaned forward and propped her elbows up on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hand, â€œHeâ€™s greedy and defensiveâ€¦ that could either be fun to work with or tedious. Iâ€™m going to assume the latter.â€ She smirked at him wondering if he would say anything in return. Yes, she was trying to get a response from him, testing him a little more by poking at him, getting a feel for where he was sensitive and where he just didnâ€™t care. She was a creature who needed to be satisfied and often did whatever she needed to get that satisfaction.<br/><br/>While she had not answered his question directly she hoped that it was something to go on. Another smirk touched her lips.<br/><br/>She went on, â€œPerhaps my boredom has lead me to look for anything in someone, if youâ€™re not anyone special then maybe I should just kill you.â€ Suddenly the expression she wore turned grim even for an old woman like herself, whose age showed on her face. It was another attempt to mess with him. She leaned back in her seat again and drummed her fingers on the table while she looked at him a certain way to give the impression she was deep in thought. â€œSurely a horror writer has quite the imagination, depending on what he or she is writing about. Iâ€™m sure you have killed off so many people in your storiesâ€¦ tell me, mister writer, how brutal were those deaths?â€ There was a pause as a smile crept onto her face, â€œPerhaps, like those dead characters, you are already dead yourself.â€<br/><br/>The old woman had added that bit to be a bit odd. Her way of thinking was different than a humanâ€™s. Maybe she really was desperate to find some form of entertainment from this man; however she was not going to go into further detail. She was going to hold off on revealing her true self and just poke at him a little more.