He lets her stay, a slight blush on his very pale cheeks. She’d actually tried not to be a jerk and interrupt, though that didn’t work it seems. Probably because Weaver is inherently sort of a jerk, even when she’s making an effort to make friends rather than enemies. The bulk of her life has been spent hunting monsters that want to kill her, and as such, social manners always seemed of secondary importance. Korbin always told her social manners were a survival skill, which she supposed was true and was the only reason she actually listened when he lectured her about it. Even if knives, scythes, and sex seemed like better survival weapons. He learned to wield a weapon at her demand, and so she learned to be civil at his.
The song is actually enjoyable, even if she doesn’t understand why he was singing it. Maybe he just really enjoyed singing? This seemed highly likely to Weaver, but mostly because she just can’t imagine really enjoying singing. Her lack of imagination here might stem from the fact that she can’t hold a tune, unlike the blond boy who maybe isn’t stellar but definitely isn’t bad.
He sings another few verses before pausing, inviting her to sit with him. This seemed less awkward than standing above him just creepily watching, and so she nods and joins. Crossing her legs beneath her, she settles her dress over her legs in an effort to keep the sun off any bare skin. Sun that strong would burn her northern, Halovian skin to a crisp. Already her ears and the tip of her nose were pink from two days spent in the brutal sun, and she was thinking maybe she’d need to go trade for a hat.
“Are you singing for any reason in particular? she finally asks, because curiosity killed the cat and she was definitely the cat. At least she had nine lives, though by now a few had already been used. Maybe she had six or seven left. “You’re pretty good. she offers, trying out this whole manners thing. Maybe Korbin’s lessons were paying off. “I’m Weaver, by the way.”
The song is actually enjoyable, even if she doesn’t understand why he was singing it. Maybe he just really enjoyed singing? This seemed highly likely to Weaver, but mostly because she just can’t imagine really enjoying singing. Her lack of imagination here might stem from the fact that she can’t hold a tune, unlike the blond boy who maybe isn’t stellar but definitely isn’t bad.
He sings another few verses before pausing, inviting her to sit with him. This seemed less awkward than standing above him just creepily watching, and so she nods and joins. Crossing her legs beneath her, she settles her dress over her legs in an effort to keep the sun off any bare skin. Sun that strong would burn her northern, Halovian skin to a crisp. Already her ears and the tip of her nose were pink from two days spent in the brutal sun, and she was thinking maybe she’d need to go trade for a hat.
“Are you singing for any reason in particular? she finally asks, because curiosity killed the cat and she was definitely the cat. At least she had nine lives, though by now a few had already been used. Maybe she had six or seven left. “You’re pretty good. she offers, trying out this whole manners thing. Maybe Korbin’s lessons were paying off. “I’m Weaver, by the way.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
