Her mother was the type of mother that taught her daughter how to drink. It was an art, one Weaver was exposed to at a young age. She had the sort of mother who simply poured her children wine for dinner, explaining how to taste it, how to experience. Other times they were simply given shots and taught what it felt like to be drunk, to understand one's limits and the repercussions of going overboard. Her mother believed that her children should be prepared for life as it was, not life as parents hoped it would be. Real life was harsh and seedy, real life happened around alcohol and drugs. So she has been drunk, but she was purposefully drunk at her mother’s doing. The concept of being grateful for the life lessons has never really crossed her mind, but maybe because she doesn’t know that others don’t have such luxury.
It probably helped that she had two brothers, and Weaver being Weaver found it entirely necessary to keep up with her brothers. Korbin drank like she did, being the youngest and skinniest of them all. Erebor though was a tank, and damn hard to keep up with. She lost that game more than she cares to admit, but she learned to hold her own through games with him. She laughs as he replies, an amused and pleased sound. “Normal rum is thin?” she says with a wicked little grin. “You like to get the job done, it seems.”
He takes a step forward, and bold as ever, Weaver takes a step as well, hand snaking out to grab for the bottle of rum if he’ll let her. He bows in greeting, and she keeps from laughing again though the smile on her face gives away her amusement. “Are you from around here, Merkesh?” she asks, wondering if he’s a natural of Torchline or someone who happened to sail his ship in at the right time.
It probably helped that she had two brothers, and Weaver being Weaver found it entirely necessary to keep up with her brothers. Korbin drank like she did, being the youngest and skinniest of them all. Erebor though was a tank, and damn hard to keep up with. She lost that game more than she cares to admit, but she learned to hold her own through games with him. She laughs as he replies, an amused and pleased sound. “Normal rum is thin?” she says with a wicked little grin. “You like to get the job done, it seems.”
He takes a step forward, and bold as ever, Weaver takes a step as well, hand snaking out to grab for the bottle of rum if he’ll let her. He bows in greeting, and she keeps from laughing again though the smile on her face gives away her amusement. “Are you from around here, Merkesh?” she asks, wondering if he’s a natural of Torchline or someone who happened to sail his ship in at the right time.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
