Vhalla felt awkward. Standing here in the doorway of a faerie queen's bedroom did not lessen the tension that scattered through her body and when Sam comments on her attire it takes all that she has to not cringe. Instead, Vhal simply does not comment and when the faerie describes the shampoo a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. Vhalla almost laughs when the queen reaches up to begin playing with her own hair as if it was a habit the couple had acquired. As much as the white haired woman would have loved to be sprayed in pretty perfume and clothed in finery she tended to keep her wants to herself, lest they be used against her. A lesson she learned the hard way.

When Sam reaches for her, the assassin stiffens slightly but let's the fae take her hand and shifts her filthy clothing to the opposite hand. Letting the woman sit her down on the bed, she dangles her feet over the edge, tension clear in her shoulders but allows the stranger to do as she wished. She almost starts when Sam begins to spray some sort of liquid on her hair and only looks over her shoulder at the bottle the faerie is holding, eyeing it with curiosity as Sam begins to run a brush through her hair. She waits for the knots to get caught in the bristles but is shocked when it runs almost smoothly through it.

Wide eyed she glances back over, "What is that?" she asks incredulously. If she the assassin wasn't facing away, she would have snatched the bottle out of the faerie queen's hand. What typically took Vhalla at least an hour to comb through her hair, the queen had finished hers in a matter of minutes, if the witch were ignorant she may have thought the bottle was magic. Perhaps it was something that she would have to invest in, if she could wander into a beauty salon without scaring away all the patrons. A small smile flitted across her lips as she thought about waltzing into a salon with her assassin attire, picturing the woman scattering like a school of fish. It was a sort of smugness that attributed to her arrogance but she had no need to feel haughty with Sam.

When Sam finally finishes, she shifts on the bed to face her inspecting her bright smile and her kind demeanor. It made Vhalla feel guilty and want to punch something at the same time. Instead she gives a nod of appreciation, "Thank you, I've never had someone brush my hair before. It feels surprisingly pleasant," she offers a small smile. When Sam tells her she can leave her clothes on the floor the witch clutches them a little tighter, "Don't worry about cleaning these, I'll leave them in a corner, but please don't touch them," she states rather sternly, her eyes hardening to leave no room for discussion. There were all sorts of poisons and weapons littered throughout her suit, it would only take one wrong touch to slice a finger off or to melt a room. Though, Sam had no idea about the weapons, the assassin hoped she wouldn't ask.

And then it was Sam's question that sent a wall slamming down so fast and her expression wiped clean. It wasn't something Vhal had ever spoken about to anyone and she was new to this "girl talk" but she did take a moment to chew over her words carefully so as to not give too much away, "I was abandoned at a young age, a man took me in and raised me, taught me how to defend myself and told me later on in life that I was to pay him back for everything he has done for me," she said dully, looking away as if to hide from the pity that might cross the faerie's features. How the assassin hated pity. Quickly changing the subject she glances back at Sam as she shifts on the bed again to set her boots and suit on the floor next to her, tucking her legs beneath her body gracefully, "Tell me about how you became queen."