Weaver listens as Morgan tells her of her father. Forty. Not a long life at all, and Weaver’s own parents had been granted less time. There was something unfair about it, certainly, though Weaver has grown used to the unfairness of this life they lead. Maea had certainly been too young, and yet she was gone. Erebor had been too young. Most of them were though. Living to a ripe old age wasn’t something that happened too often here. ”It seems it’s not just our streets where parents do less,” she says, recalling many of the conversations she had had with those outside of Halo. ”I consider myself lucky to have had such good parents at all, even if our time was short.”
Weaver laughs at the next comment though, amused at the humor Morgan offers. She seems to be warming up, if only a little. ”Ah, then perhaps just don’t tell them it exists. Good booze, roaring fire, dim lights. I admit, it is the sort of place designed to keep you around.” She gives Morgan a little wink, but then adds, ”I will be sure to water down their drinks, at least.”
”Not particularly,” she says with a nod toward the scythe on her back. ”Though I’m pretty sure just the look of that thing keeps people away. I probably never actually needed to learn to use it for it to serve a purpose,” she says with a slight chuckle. Though she is not a large woman, between the scythe on her back, the knives of her waist, and the general ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ look that Weaver has mastered, she’s not usually bothered too much. ”I steer clear of Whitebrim on a good day, usually. Though...I mean, I know you have plenty of soldiers, but if you ever need help dealing with them, I’d be willing.” Which she means. It is a foolish thing to offer, probably, and Korbin would be pissed at her. But if she can help Halo, then why wouldn’t she? It is her home, and she serves it in her own way.
Weaver laughs at the next comment though, amused at the humor Morgan offers. She seems to be warming up, if only a little. ”Ah, then perhaps just don’t tell them it exists. Good booze, roaring fire, dim lights. I admit, it is the sort of place designed to keep you around.” She gives Morgan a little wink, but then adds, ”I will be sure to water down their drinks, at least.”
”Not particularly,” she says with a nod toward the scythe on her back. ”Though I’m pretty sure just the look of that thing keeps people away. I probably never actually needed to learn to use it for it to serve a purpose,” she says with a slight chuckle. Though she is not a large woman, between the scythe on her back, the knives of her waist, and the general ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ look that Weaver has mastered, she’s not usually bothered too much. ”I steer clear of Whitebrim on a good day, usually. Though...I mean, I know you have plenty of soldiers, but if you ever need help dealing with them, I’d be willing.” Which she means. It is a foolish thing to offer, probably, and Korbin would be pissed at her. But if she can help Halo, then why wouldn’t she? It is her home, and she serves it in her own way.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
