It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
Wessex makes a bit of a ‘hmmm’ sound in the back of her throat. “That’s not something that usually happens. We don’t just leave what little stuff we have out and about. But by all means, feel free to keep looking.” His answers really make her think he just… doesn’t think. Or thinks they’re a terribly uncivilized bunch, prone to losing valuables or dropping things in the middle of winter.
She’ll judge the pants off the boy and then hand him a knife in the next breath, because that’s just the kind of complex conundrum that Wessex is: killer, judger, and altruistic self-defense teacher. Violence was her bread and butter in her previous life; you can’t just expect her to change everything just because she was offered a massive amount of responsibility. Which doesn’t help while she’s trying to prove everyone wrong.
Some things just can’t be talked out, not when everyone is racist and self-righteous and think they’re always right. They’ll figure it out eventually.
“A knife?” she frowns at the idea that he may not have even the most basic of tools. She doesn't know where he lives, but if he did, she’d roll her eyes and tell him to ask Loren for one. There have got to be a shit ton of knives laying around the Manor. But as she doesn’t, Wessex sighs and abruptly kneels down to reach into the sides of her boots. After a hot second, she pulls out a medium-length knife and offers it hilt-first to the boy. “Here. Take this one.”
She’ll judge the pants off the boy and then hand him a knife in the next breath, because that’s just the kind of complex conundrum that Wessex is: killer, judger, and altruistic self-defense teacher. Violence was her bread and butter in her previous life; you can’t just expect her to change everything just because she was offered a massive amount of responsibility. Which doesn’t help while she’s trying to prove everyone wrong.
Some things just can’t be talked out, not when everyone is racist and self-righteous and think they’re always right. They’ll figure it out eventually.
“A knife?” she frowns at the idea that he may not have even the most basic of tools. She doesn't know where he lives, but if he did, she’d roll her eyes and tell him to ask Loren for one. There have got to be a shit ton of knives laying around the Manor. But as she doesn’t, Wessex sighs and abruptly kneels down to reach into the sides of her boots. After a hot second, she pulls out a medium-length knife and offers it hilt-first to the boy. “Here. Take this one.”
