For a moment, she thought of the past as the Lalafell wondered about why she would be treated differently. Of someone telling her about how fish were only aware of the sea, how they couldn't imagine life on land. The smith was the same: the greatsword was just another weapon to him, and sure enough many have used it as such. To her it was a lifestyle, a rough hand that, however needed, is not desired, and she had come to view it as such.
She relaxed, "No, I'm sure the lancers wouldn't mind the greatsword. But if I were to say, go around in a greatsword and pointy armor with a mean expression on my face, well, I'd have a lot of eyes on me, wouldn't I? I don't need that, I live there."
She started to realize she wasn't getting her sword fixed without an answer, but just couldn't bring herself to spit it out. It was a habit, one born of necessity in her life. "What if I want to go home, and crash on my bed? Or just nip on over to the stalls for something sweet? I'd have a hard time doing that with such a dark reputation."