It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
It’s probably because Wessex has earned her status through fucking hard work that she doesn’t dwell on the power part of being a demi-god. In her mind, it has nothing do with how powerful she was - or will be - and everything to do with her role and future roles within the Ascended family.
Her powers are a way to accomplish those roles and goals, but they don’t define her, other than apparently lending themselves to her moniker. The Wraith. Ok, sure. There are worse things to be called, and she’s probably been called most of them.
Does she like it? A good question. The demi-god shrugs nonchalantly. “They and the Voice are what I have left. Disease took my family and almost took me, and as I’m sure you’re shocked to hear, I’ve never been good at making friends.” She chuckles and quickly runs back over their conversation. Made friends with Weaver, maybe, but neither woman could truly be considered typical. They stand out, though for different reasons. She waves her hand at the thanks, indicating that it’s nothing and a fair trade, as far as she’s concerned.
Weaver, however, doesn’t disappoint with her answer. Crossing her arms loosely over her chest, a soft chuckle tumbles out. “A fair one. I can’t speak for my Lady, but she was Abandoned once, and so is one of our family. The Voice cares for potential, thinks highly of those who would make the jump to shed their Old God shackles.” A small quirk of a smile. “But then it was an easy choice for me. It was death or ascension. And I wasn’t done with the world yet.”
Looking up at the mountains that rise above the Citadel, Wessex closes her eyes in the chilled wind, trying to remember what it feels like to be cooled by the air. “But it took me dying and her bringing me back to cement that loyalty.” Knowing that she dropped a bit of a bomb, but preferring to leave the conversation where it is, Wessex looks back towards the mass of the Citadel market. “Nice to meet you, Weaver. If you ever need anything, give a shout. I can usually be found.” And with that, she strolls off, pleased with her gift and the way the day’s gone.
{Fin, unless you want to post again}
Her powers are a way to accomplish those roles and goals, but they don’t define her, other than apparently lending themselves to her moniker. The Wraith. Ok, sure. There are worse things to be called, and she’s probably been called most of them.
Does she like it? A good question. The demi-god shrugs nonchalantly. “They and the Voice are what I have left. Disease took my family and almost took me, and as I’m sure you’re shocked to hear, I’ve never been good at making friends.” She chuckles and quickly runs back over their conversation. Made friends with Weaver, maybe, but neither woman could truly be considered typical. They stand out, though for different reasons. She waves her hand at the thanks, indicating that it’s nothing and a fair trade, as far as she’s concerned.
Weaver, however, doesn’t disappoint with her answer. Crossing her arms loosely over her chest, a soft chuckle tumbles out. “A fair one. I can’t speak for my Lady, but she was Abandoned once, and so is one of our family. The Voice cares for potential, thinks highly of those who would make the jump to shed their Old God shackles.” A small quirk of a smile. “But then it was an easy choice for me. It was death or ascension. And I wasn’t done with the world yet.”
Looking up at the mountains that rise above the Citadel, Wessex closes her eyes in the chilled wind, trying to remember what it feels like to be cooled by the air. “But it took me dying and her bringing me back to cement that loyalty.” Knowing that she dropped a bit of a bomb, but preferring to leave the conversation where it is, Wessex looks back towards the mass of the Citadel market. “Nice to meet you, Weaver. If you ever need anything, give a shout. I can usually be found.” And with that, she strolls off, pleased with her gift and the way the day’s gone.
{Fin, unless you want to post again}
