It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
“Unorthodox is fun,” Wessex says, her easy manner flashing towards something feral for a moment - predatory, one might think if they were inclined to be scared of someone like the Wraith. The truth is that she’s spent a good part of her life around weapons and she knows a finely crafted thing when she sees it. It’s eagerness and a wicked imagination of what the blade can do, mostly, with a shade of envy for having a mother who thought that way.
Then there’s the subtext that Wessex, herself, is unorthodox - that she enjoys the unusual and unexpected, whatever it might be, living her life on her toes and taking the punches as they come. Straddling the line between good and evil with precarious balance, one never knows which way she’ll turn - and that makes her dangerous.
But then some people find dangerous fun. And its been a long time since Wessex has had any fun. Lots of crises, verrrrrrry little fun.
“Oh really?” One eyebrow arches at the woman’s declaration of being the most fun local, and the Grounder has half a mind to believe it. A glance down at the half-frozen reindeer and a slight shrug. “I don’t need it, so yes, I suppose it’s a gift.” Pushing off from the step, Wessex stands and grabs one of the luxere’s back legs. “For a fun little tour. The local spots and maybe some information.” There’s a question there without her actually asking a question.
It may be the easiest day of hunting Weaver’s done in a long time, if she’s up to it.
Then there’s the subtext that Wessex, herself, is unorthodox - that she enjoys the unusual and unexpected, whatever it might be, living her life on her toes and taking the punches as they come. Straddling the line between good and evil with precarious balance, one never knows which way she’ll turn - and that makes her dangerous.
But then some people find dangerous fun. And its been a long time since Wessex has had any fun. Lots of crises, verrrrrrry little fun.
“Oh really?” One eyebrow arches at the woman’s declaration of being the most fun local, and the Grounder has half a mind to believe it. A glance down at the half-frozen reindeer and a slight shrug. “I don’t need it, so yes, I suppose it’s a gift.” Pushing off from the step, Wessex stands and grabs one of the luxere’s back legs. “For a fun little tour. The local spots and maybe some information.” There’s a question there without her actually asking a question.
It may be the easiest day of hunting Weaver’s done in a long time, if she’s up to it.
