The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
”Weird,” she says, with a distasteful look on her face, though she’s clearly playing. Honestly, perhaps it’s not all that weird. Perhaps she is more motherly, in some ways, than she gives herself credit for. She just always feels too young, too unprepared, for the possibility of children. Yet...would she have them? Maybe. It had always been a possibility to her. An unlikely one, but still...maybe.
The topic drifts on though, and it’s not as if she’d voice those thoughts. Right now, Weaver wants nothing more than to be young and wild and free. To pretend like her life wasn’t a laundry list of responsibilities, even if it was. Still, when your job is to get people drunk and drink with them, it is a rather fun laundry list of responsibilities. Weaver doesn’t even mind cleaning the glasses, or putting them back on the shelf.
Weaver collects their empty glasses, placing them in the sink to be cleaned in the morning. Mornings were for cleaning though, not drunken nights. She puts the bottle of vodka back on the shelf where it belongs, and dumps their cigarette ashes into the trash. Though the world is slightly sideways, she’s generally feeling pretty good. ”Do you want a proper room with a proper bed, or do you just want to crash in the guild room?” she asks, not particularly concerned one way or another. They had empty bedrooms, though that would require climbing the stairs. Or she could, most likely, manage to get the door to the backroom open. There was a nice couch in there and some decent furs, a small hearth to keep him warm.
She comes round to him, lacing an arm through his, figuring that they could stay steady together better than apart. Hold each other up and all that. ”The Grounds do kind of suck, and that coming from a girl that lives in Halo.” Not that she’d ever lived there, but she couldn’t see the appeal in staying. Not as better choices opened up. She follows him as he makes his way toward the room, fishing in her pockets for keys to whatever he chooses.
The topic drifts on though, and it’s not as if she’d voice those thoughts. Right now, Weaver wants nothing more than to be young and wild and free. To pretend like her life wasn’t a laundry list of responsibilities, even if it was. Still, when your job is to get people drunk and drink with them, it is a rather fun laundry list of responsibilities. Weaver doesn’t even mind cleaning the glasses, or putting them back on the shelf.
Weaver collects their empty glasses, placing them in the sink to be cleaned in the morning. Mornings were for cleaning though, not drunken nights. She puts the bottle of vodka back on the shelf where it belongs, and dumps their cigarette ashes into the trash. Though the world is slightly sideways, she’s generally feeling pretty good. ”Do you want a proper room with a proper bed, or do you just want to crash in the guild room?” she asks, not particularly concerned one way or another. They had empty bedrooms, though that would require climbing the stairs. Or she could, most likely, manage to get the door to the backroom open. There was a nice couch in there and some decent furs, a small hearth to keep him warm.
She comes round to him, lacing an arm through his, figuring that they could stay steady together better than apart. Hold each other up and all that. ”The Grounds do kind of suck, and that coming from a girl that lives in Halo.” Not that she’d ever lived there, but she couldn’t see the appeal in staying. Not as better choices opened up. She follows him as he makes his way toward the room, fishing in her pockets for keys to whatever he chooses.
Weaver
