The market was Korbin’s job. He was vastly more of a people person (you know, the kind of person that other people liked) than Weaver, and besides, she was usually too busy making sure they didn’t starve. Occasionally he forced her, or had a valid excuse not to go. Today was the former, Korbin’s entire excuse being, ”Go talk to someone other than me. There are newbies with the portal open, including some rather strapping young men you haven’t yet slept with.”
It was a valid argument. The pickings in Halo were slim and the options of things to do that kept you warm were slimmer still, and both Hale siblings were well known for being open to ideas, shall we say. They were stellar wingmen for one another and had few compunctions, except that their involvement together ended at the roll of wingman. Weaver had only tossed a lumpy old pillow at him in response, put on her cloak and gathered a small collection of things for trade. Slinging her scythe over her shoulder, she’d opened the door just in time for Korbin to yell, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “Go forth and conquer!” with very little sincerity and a whole lot of laughing.
She’d slammed the door in his face.
The sun, today, was at least not absolutely blinding and so she could see without her eyes bleeding. Home to the market was a short walk, and she was about to beeline straight to the stalls she knew they needed when a stranger caught her eye. The tall, blonde woman was positioned on some stairs, wearing very little clothing given the temperature though it didn’t look like she was bothered by it. Ascended, maybe? Though that’s not really what attracts Weaver, even if the woman looks vaguely like someone Weaver could have been friends with in some other life. It’s the luxere at her feet, a large, mouthwatering thing that catches Weaver’s attention. The luxere avoid her and her pathetic bit of dark magic, and though she can set a good trap they seem to be too smart to get caught in them.
“That looks like bait,” she says, slipping past the crowd and into the clearing at the bottom of the steps. The woman may lack a stall or a sign, but she’s the most noticeable thing here because of it, or maybe simply because of what she brings. The lack of a setup makes Weaver think the woman isn’t here for the typical trades though, and wonders what exactly she wants.
She betrays little of her thoughts though, other than the fact she is here and clearly considering being caught on the line. Weaver’s body language is easy and casual, the scythe cutting above her head like a dark halo, raven feathers along her neck ruffling in the slight breeze. Her amber eyes are keen, bright little suns that pay more attention than the rest of her demeanor would suggest. You don’t survive Halo without paying attention. “What are you hoping to catch?”
Wessex
It was a valid argument. The pickings in Halo were slim and the options of things to do that kept you warm were slimmer still, and both Hale siblings were well known for being open to ideas, shall we say. They were stellar wingmen for one another and had few compunctions, except that their involvement together ended at the roll of wingman. Weaver had only tossed a lumpy old pillow at him in response, put on her cloak and gathered a small collection of things for trade. Slinging her scythe over her shoulder, she’d opened the door just in time for Korbin to yell, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “Go forth and conquer!” with very little sincerity and a whole lot of laughing.
She’d slammed the door in his face.
The sun, today, was at least not absolutely blinding and so she could see without her eyes bleeding. Home to the market was a short walk, and she was about to beeline straight to the stalls she knew they needed when a stranger caught her eye. The tall, blonde woman was positioned on some stairs, wearing very little clothing given the temperature though it didn’t look like she was bothered by it. Ascended, maybe? Though that’s not really what attracts Weaver, even if the woman looks vaguely like someone Weaver could have been friends with in some other life. It’s the luxere at her feet, a large, mouthwatering thing that catches Weaver’s attention. The luxere avoid her and her pathetic bit of dark magic, and though she can set a good trap they seem to be too smart to get caught in them.
“That looks like bait,” she says, slipping past the crowd and into the clearing at the bottom of the steps. The woman may lack a stall or a sign, but she’s the most noticeable thing here because of it, or maybe simply because of what she brings. The lack of a setup makes Weaver think the woman isn’t here for the typical trades though, and wonders what exactly she wants.
She betrays little of her thoughts though, other than the fact she is here and clearly considering being caught on the line. Weaver’s body language is easy and casual, the scythe cutting above her head like a dark halo, raven feathers along her neck ruffling in the slight breeze. Her amber eyes are keen, bright little suns that pay more attention than the rest of her demeanor would suggest. You don’t survive Halo without paying attention. “What are you hoping to catch?”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
