Jenny: Trivial

The Guttersnipe waved her hand. "There's a peg-lock on the door. You could break it from the outside if you really wanted to, but no one's motivated enough to do that unless the slave needs discipline. Just dump your tunic; we'll find you a new one in the morning. I'll be in bright and early to take you to the stream, and then we'll see the master. Don't fret. It's late now and what you need is a proper rest." You're thin enough to wither away from exhaustion from the look of you, anyway.

It was odd, being asked for her name. No one had ever needed to ask for her name before Master Lucius and Gwenhywfar. It gave her the uncomfortable feeling of being detached from her name, detached from herself, as though someone asked what her hand was and she had to take it off and give it to them before they could know it was her hand. "I'm the Guttersnipe," she said simply, and gave her head the faintest rolling toss. "It was the first thing my Lord Ambrosius called me by, and I've never gone by anything else."

Except his little chit.