Greta shuts her eyes and fists a hand in her hair as she mentally translates: yes, she has it right; it's complicated; he's never heard anything like it before; most of the songs he's familiar with are unpleasant (well, of course they would be - she's met enough of the subjects to know that much), but Johnny's is apparently so terrible that even the Balladeer is spooked by it.

She doesn't want to know this. She shouldn't know this. It's none of her business, and it's none of his business, either, even if he's coming across his information accidentally. And what does 'wrong' mean, anyway? They're all from different universes. Maybe everyone's song-stories sound bizarre where Johnny comes from. She paces in a little circle, lips pursed, then turns back to the Balladeer and lets her hand drop to her hip. Enough of this.

"If Johnny wants me to know his story, he can tell it to me," she says firmly. "Otherwise, it's none of my business. He's never done anything to--to hurt or threaten me, even when he had the chance." The monster in his nightmare didn't go for her, after all. "And unless you're telling me he tried to kill a president, then..." she lifts a hand, then lets it drop, losing steam. She can't tell the Balladeer that this doesn't concern him; that wouldn't be fair, either. "I'm sorry," she says, her tone gentler than it was before. "But I'm not going to abandon the lad just because his song sounds weird to you. That's not enough to go on."

She sighs, shoulders drooping, then holds out a hand. "Can we please just focus on getting out of here?"