Roly Poly Pumpkins

She can’t decide whether or not she’s happy the girl failed. Part of Wessex is vindicated (but, like, being vindicated by a teenager failing is pretty low), and the other part is oh so slightly disappointed. What if she had run after the orange ball, knocked the sticks down herself? Kicked them? Launched something else into the air? But she didn’t. Why not? Perhaps her expectations for Outlanders are set too high. Either way, this will likely be a lesson for Melita. Wessex isn’t cruel in her dismissal, but she is nothing if not a woman of her word, and the little bird didn’t meet the requirements and that is simply that. She shrugs after Melita thanks them, which really just seems silly - but again, manners. “Not bad for an Outlander girl.” Then a quick glance to Rory, for whatever reason, perhaps to establish their otherness from her, should she not already know it. Shifting her gaze back to the red head, she offers a short nod and turns towards the fire, already set on doing something else. “I’m Wessex.” She gathers the remnants of a destroyed gourd and then heads for the fire. “Come find me if you want to learn more.” And then the Ascended woman carefully places the pieces of rind into the embers at the base of the fire, fully absorbed in this task, indicating that Melita’s time with them has come to an end. For now. “Hungry?” she asks to either Rory or the empty air, depending on if he decides to stick around. It isn’t long before the aroma of cooking pumpkin wafts upwards and Wessex fishes the blackened and now much mushier pieces out of the ashes. Theoretically, they’re edible, or so a fellow warrior-dude said. She doesn’t have to eat, but what does demonic pumpkin taste like? Cautiously, she brings a piece to her lips, pulling them back to delicately taste the very-dead gourd. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm