She laughs at the idea that she is a better guest. Weaver was highly likely to drink too much and cause a scene (or pretend, really) if she thought it might prove useful. But having never been to parties elsewhere, she’s not sure if that’s the tactic she’s going to go with. It works really well in bars, pretending to be drunk enough that people assume you won’t remember what they tell you, but she knows she’s treading on new ground here. Weaver finds herself more interested in the next comment about Zariah though, finding it interesting to hear the woman ruled the Grounds for a period and screwed it up. “You know, if she can teach me to do shitty things with my magic, I may forgive it.” Which was only sort of true. There was just a priority order, learn magic, defend Halo. Why that order? Because it was sort of hard to do anything useful when you were just small little Weaver with few useful skills. Everyone with half a mind for survival knew how to fight.
“And why should I be wary of you? Other than the fact I suspect you could snap my neck.” She says it with a raised brow, wondering how much Wessex would be willing to tell her. Weaver isn’t a fool. This stranger wasn’t the sort of stranger you messed with but rather, was the sort you befriended. But still, she is curious to see what information she could learn about the woman who so very easily carried a luxere around her neck like a scarf.
Had Wessex asked about her name, the answer would have been simple. The same type of woman who gives a scythe as a gift also names their kids weird names. Erebor. Weaver. Korbin. Korbin’s name was actually pretty normal, but Weaver and Erebor far less so. Also, who names their kid Wessex? Instead though, they talk of hunting dragons and Weaver quirks her head slightly, eyebrows raised. “I have a scythe and some knives, I’m not sure how much use I am against a dragon. But I will lead you through the Fangs and try to escape what sounds like my certain demise.” Weaver really is a fool sometimes, but to hunt a dragon…
Her thoughts are interrupted by Mavis, who comes shuffling through a flap in the tent. She’s an elderly woman who gives Weaver a rather affectionate smile. “Mavis,” Weaver greats, pulling two small bags of dried beef from her pack and tossing them over to the other woman. “Prepayment. We’re looking for some gifts for some sun releasing party.” Mavis catches the bags with shocking dexterity, and one has to wonder if this isn’t a routine for them. ”The Fae’s Catching of the Sun myth. I know it well. A tooth will not make a good gift,” says the old lady, pocketing the beef and plucking the tooth from Weavers hand. “I was not going to give them a tooth, Mavis.” Without another word, the lady hands Weaver a beautiful silver trinket in the shape of a dragonfly before turning her attention to Wessex.
Her eyes drift down to the candle that seems to have caught the woman’s attention. “It is said that, so long as you can see the light of this candle, it will keep you warm.” Perhaps unnecessary for the woman who has been drawn to it, but then again, most things here are just stories. Though there is still something worthy in a story. “Weaver, be a dear,” Mavis says, holding out the candle. Weaver reaches into a pocket and pulls out a stone and some metal. Striking the rock against the metal, a few sparks fly into a little tinder tin she keeps. She sticks the wick of the candle in the tin and it catches easily, returning the candle to Mavis. Though Weaver can do little else of use with her magic, she has never had a particular issue getting a fire started, though she kept them going by nature of being a Halovian and not the magic in her veins. Mavis holds the candle out to Wessex for her to take, if she’s so inclined.
“And why should I be wary of you? Other than the fact I suspect you could snap my neck.” She says it with a raised brow, wondering how much Wessex would be willing to tell her. Weaver isn’t a fool. This stranger wasn’t the sort of stranger you messed with but rather, was the sort you befriended. But still, she is curious to see what information she could learn about the woman who so very easily carried a luxere around her neck like a scarf.
Had Wessex asked about her name, the answer would have been simple. The same type of woman who gives a scythe as a gift also names their kids weird names. Erebor. Weaver. Korbin. Korbin’s name was actually pretty normal, but Weaver and Erebor far less so. Also, who names their kid Wessex? Instead though, they talk of hunting dragons and Weaver quirks her head slightly, eyebrows raised. “I have a scythe and some knives, I’m not sure how much use I am against a dragon. But I will lead you through the Fangs and try to escape what sounds like my certain demise.” Weaver really is a fool sometimes, but to hunt a dragon…
Her thoughts are interrupted by Mavis, who comes shuffling through a flap in the tent. She’s an elderly woman who gives Weaver a rather affectionate smile. “Mavis,” Weaver greats, pulling two small bags of dried beef from her pack and tossing them over to the other woman. “Prepayment. We’re looking for some gifts for some sun releasing party.” Mavis catches the bags with shocking dexterity, and one has to wonder if this isn’t a routine for them. ”The Fae’s Catching of the Sun myth. I know it well. A tooth will not make a good gift,” says the old lady, pocketing the beef and plucking the tooth from Weavers hand. “I was not going to give them a tooth, Mavis.” Without another word, the lady hands Weaver a beautiful silver trinket in the shape of a dragonfly before turning her attention to Wessex.
Her eyes drift down to the candle that seems to have caught the woman’s attention. “It is said that, so long as you can see the light of this candle, it will keep you warm.” Perhaps unnecessary for the woman who has been drawn to it, but then again, most things here are just stories. Though there is still something worthy in a story. “Weaver, be a dear,” Mavis says, holding out the candle. Weaver reaches into a pocket and pulls out a stone and some metal. Striking the rock against the metal, a few sparks fly into a little tinder tin she keeps. She sticks the wick of the candle in the tin and it catches easily, returning the candle to Mavis. Though Weaver can do little else of use with her magic, she has never had a particular issue getting a fire started, though she kept them going by nature of being a Halovian and not the magic in her veins. Mavis holds the candle out to Wessex for her to take, if she’s so inclined.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
