Lion Head Mesa leave me in the dark

Medusa heard a word, a name; whatever it was, she did not claim it. She stopped mid stride to look at the priest, correcting him with an impatient tch and a sharply enunciated: Medusa, The way of things here was all that Medusa knew, but she was not one for formality. 

Do first, feel later. And now she felt a little nervous to think she might have corrected the wrong person, perhaps, and that her tone might be seen as disrespectful rather than merely speaking to her own preference. Would that get Midas, or her father, in trouble...? 

She sucked in a breath and tacked on, ...please. That is my name. She could not see the one that had spoken to her, and she had half a mind to abandon this encounter and dive into the paths that she knew. But she wanted to be sure she had corrected whatever error might be perceived, if any, in the event that her father was spoken to about her manners. 

For Medusa was mannerly when she needed to be. But by her lonesome, or with Midas, she was simply herself. A ghoulish, gremlin of a girl. And so she tucked her head and crouched to pass through some orifice to face... 

A man she had seen plenty, to be sure. But getting to know others was not her strong suit. His name was lost upon her. His teachings were interesting, but... well, she had not found an area she could apply them. Whether for lack of interest or for lack of motivation, who was to know? Not Medusa, who hardly did any internal deep dives. It was all very surface level for her. 

In the darkness Medusa stood in front of him now, comfortable in the quiet (she did not think of the way in which this might be unsettling). She watched him, only wondering for what reason he might have called to her.