Jone, accustomed to being insulted, doesn't quite think that's it. This conversation has taken an odd turn, difficult to identify, but it feels very like one between mates. Except, of course, for the calluses on Jone's fingers, and the clean fair hands of her companion.

Well, the woman is a rifter. In for a penny, in for the night. Jone grins, and sets a hand on Margaery's shoulder, tapping her lightly. "No, luv, I prefer the ones for folk with a bit more experience."

It's just a guess, really, and even if she's wrong, it's a good comeback.