She keeps this gun on her person in an oilcloth-lined pouch, and good thing too. Lots of her rogues over the years have called Plourr paranoid, but the tendency has proved useful too many times to make an effort to change.

That's a familiar name delivered in a familiar voice. She does know him, she did have a generally good impression of the man, but her suspicion isn't satisfied. "The Hussar captain. You're a long way from your father's halls, Boromir. What brings you out here and afoot?"

A flash of lightning illuminates the landscape and her face, and after a couple of seconds thunder barks and growls. Plourr considers for a moment, then hisses out a breath between her teeth and steps back. She's seen people hit by lightning. "Fine. Come in and speak to me there. My sup, my wine, my hearth, such as they are."

He may or may not have picked up that while she doesn't act gently reared, sometimes she says things that are corruptions of classical terms, like the offer to share food and drink and lodgings with a guest.