To be fair, she only wants to learn how to do shitty things. Whether or not she actually does them is undecided and another matter entirely. The definition of ‘shitty’ was subject to interpretation anyway, wasn’t it? Just as things were not obviously good and bad, neither were actions. No good deed goes unpunished and all that. Intentions go awry, or someone else simply sees the world in a different way. It’s not as if she’d planned to get her brother killed that day they’d gone hunting, but she did. Shitty thing, but all she’d been trying to do was feed them.
Wessex does in fact answer her question, and Weaver doesn’t look particularly concerned but she does look interested. “It sounds to me like they fear you and are hiding it.” Fear was a funny emotion, often covered up by bravado and blame, hidden beneath a blanket of anger. Anger was the easiest emotion to show, the easiest emotion to feel, instead of the truth. The truth of anger was hurt, sorrow, pain, fear, uncertainty. The heart of anger was usually the sort of thing no one wanted to admit.
Weaver watches with interest as Wessex takes the candle and burns a line into the wax and then snuffs out the wick. That was her magic. It’s already pretty clear Wessex isn’t Abandoned (there’s no way in hell she’d have a direct line to a god if she was), and now Weaver is really curious. Moreso when a few blades spring from the woman's hand as she hacks off some meat for Mavis. Weaver would be annoyed at watching her gift be given away so casually, but this was Mavis and there are a few reasons they are at this stall. The wares are some of her favorites here, but so was Mavis. “What are you?” she asks as she turns away from the stall, their business done. Maybe the other woman wouldn’t answer, but she’s curious. It’s not entirely obvious, and Weaver’s never met a demi-god so she can’t quite imagine that possibility.
“My place is this way, not far,” she says, nodding in the direction of her house. Let’s be real, she sure as hell wasn’t carrying that luxere herself. ”I take it you liked Mavis’ stall, at least. Anything else you wanted to see of Halo on this trip?” She might be a nosey tour guide, but she was a damn good tour guide otherwise.
Wessex does in fact answer her question, and Weaver doesn’t look particularly concerned but she does look interested. “It sounds to me like they fear you and are hiding it.” Fear was a funny emotion, often covered up by bravado and blame, hidden beneath a blanket of anger. Anger was the easiest emotion to show, the easiest emotion to feel, instead of the truth. The truth of anger was hurt, sorrow, pain, fear, uncertainty. The heart of anger was usually the sort of thing no one wanted to admit.
Weaver watches with interest as Wessex takes the candle and burns a line into the wax and then snuffs out the wick. That was her magic. It’s already pretty clear Wessex isn’t Abandoned (there’s no way in hell she’d have a direct line to a god if she was), and now Weaver is really curious. Moreso when a few blades spring from the woman's hand as she hacks off some meat for Mavis. Weaver would be annoyed at watching her gift be given away so casually, but this was Mavis and there are a few reasons they are at this stall. The wares are some of her favorites here, but so was Mavis. “What are you?” she asks as she turns away from the stall, their business done. Maybe the other woman wouldn’t answer, but she’s curious. It’s not entirely obvious, and Weaver’s never met a demi-god so she can’t quite imagine that possibility.
“My place is this way, not far,” she says, nodding in the direction of her house. Let’s be real, she sure as hell wasn’t carrying that luxere herself. ”I take it you liked Mavis’ stall, at least. Anything else you wanted to see of Halo on this trip?” She might be a nosey tour guide, but she was a damn good tour guide otherwise.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
