Ylva, having been taken care of by one of the other (NPC) servers, has had ample opportunity to watch Magne moving around the dining room here, chatting with other patrons and refilling drinks, checking in, occasionally flirting or otherwise keeping spirits up. A warning had been leveled at one of the folks that's obviously feeling the famine more acutely that they would do well to conserve their energy until the food supply could be padded back out again, but overall, it's a pretty peaceful evening.

Magne is, therefore, a little taken aback to be suddenly, maybe somewhat aggressively approached by someone apparently brand new to the island. A pause, with pursed lips and furrowed brow, as she tries to decide how to react to a point-blank question that historically has been a precursor to a fight. But there's a little too much tryhard goodwill in that smile to be confrontational.

"Normally I'd hope someone would ask for my name first," she points out warily. "But, yes. Is there something I can help you with?"