Some of that oddness is admittedly nature; she doesn't think or prioritize the way a human would (never has, and that was a frightening thing when she still thought she was one), and there's an ever-present edge of otherworldliness. More of it, though, is the fact that she's stumbling through years of brutal trauma with no better coping skill than 'ignore it, sometimes with alcohol'. She was much better at pretending to fit the world around her when she didn't have to devote so much energy to not screaming.

After her particular experiences of the supposed superiority of the human race, a certain disinclination to play ball with pretense is probably to be expected, though few in Baedal have got past the initial impression to peg the hurts that drive it. It's been less than a year since she was broken out of the facility.

"There are other fae here," she says, shrugging one shoulder, "but none of my particular species. And I was raised among humans," with a flicker of black humour; Hermione's honest and more or less respectful startlement isn't the kind to raise her guard, "so it was a bit of a surprise to me, too, at first."

They're two separate thoughts, but she has a tendency to tangent and to run things together that aren't connected; linear conversation is a bonus with this one, not a guarantee.