Tal had been to and from Whitebrim every couple of weeks, keeping the Waystation stocked and cleaned up and collecting any mail that had accumulated there from hunters on the Tundra who didn't want to come back to the Citadel during the warmer (comparatively speaking) months. Back again with Deimos, the courier this time had brought only his smallest racing sled, his usual items, his companion - and the glaive that he untied from the sled at the General's question, hefting it with a grin.
"It works against Sah," he said smugly, patting the weapon fondly. "Figure I'll stick with it." And Deimos could help him get even better with it for next time.
He swung the weapon slowly a few times, stretching and limbering up after the trip, but he paused at the unexpected question and his good mood dropped away in a heartbeat. The courier's face paled and then flushed before he looked away to scowl at the remnants of the burned and broken town.
"...Kind of. Maybe. A little," he admitted, the words pulled reluctantly from his tongue. He wasn't a good liar and there was no point in denying it, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to the conversation. "She's just... she's not Halovian, Deimos! She's got no business being Warden!" The words exploded out of him with unexpected vehemence as he glowered at the nearest building.
And never mind that Deimos was technically an Outlander as well. Deimos was different.
"We had a Grounder woman show up before, right? An' hook her claws into the Warden at th'time an' get put in charge as soon as she showed up, too! An' now it's happenin' again an' I just--" He bit down on his tongue and squeezed the haft of the weapon like he was wringing a ningo's neck. "Neron deserved that bitch, but I just-- I don't want to see it happen t'you," he finished lamely, tense and unhappy as he hunched his shoulders against a wind only he could feel.
"It works against Sah," he said smugly, patting the weapon fondly. "Figure I'll stick with it." And Deimos could help him get even better with it for next time.
He swung the weapon slowly a few times, stretching and limbering up after the trip, but he paused at the unexpected question and his good mood dropped away in a heartbeat. The courier's face paled and then flushed before he looked away to scowl at the remnants of the burned and broken town.
"...Kind of. Maybe. A little," he admitted, the words pulled reluctantly from his tongue. He wasn't a good liar and there was no point in denying it, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to the conversation. "She's just... she's not Halovian, Deimos! She's got no business being Warden!" The words exploded out of him with unexpected vehemence as he glowered at the nearest building.
And never mind that Deimos was technically an Outlander as well. Deimos was different.
"We had a Grounder woman show up before, right? An' hook her claws into the Warden at th'time an' get put in charge as soon as she showed up, too! An' now it's happenin' again an' I just--" He bit down on his tongue and squeezed the haft of the weapon like he was wringing a ningo's neck. "Neron deserved that bitch, but I just-- I don't want to see it happen t'you," he finished lamely, tense and unhappy as he hunched his shoulders against a wind only he could feel.
