They were both similarly reserved. Despite Weaver’s reputation, she doesn't often seek out others. Life here was hard enough, and her time was spent hunting (a thing made so much harder without John and Erebor to help her), trading, and trying not to die. It didn’t leave much energy for small talk, except on days like today when there was no other choice of anything to do. It felt like wasted time. It might have been her stool but mostly because in small towns, in run-down little taverns, there were only so many people frequenting them anyway that her spare time spent here felt like a lot. It probably wasn’t as much as it felt like, given that she usually had other things to be doing. But damn if a girl didn’t need a drink to warm her bones after a long day here.
She doesn’t pay much mind when the door creaks open. The tavern was busy (well, busy by Halo’s standards) today anyway, and she’s too preoccupied wondering if she shouldn’t go see the world outside Halo. Not leave for good, but leave long enough to find out what’s been going on, to maybe score some half decent, sun-fattened game and come back home to Korbin. Her brother was itching to leave, to be his charming self somewhere else and gain information. It was a thing he was good at, a thing Weaver was decent enough at given simply the existence of her breasts. Men liked to talk to breasts.
She pays slightly more mind when someone sits down next to her, only because she is not oblivious. He orders a drink in the same way she had, without words, and in a moment an ale sits in front of him. The ale was worse than the liquor here though, and so she’d always figured if she was going to drink piss it might as well be the stuff that got her drunk faster. Well, as drunk as anyone could afford to be in Halo, which was probably really just slightly buzzed. He is the first to speak though, and Weaver finally actually turns to him at the sound of a familiar voice.
If anyone had to interrupt her brooding, she is glad it is Noah. He was on the rather short list of men she hadn’t slept with in Halo, which was awkward or not depending on how you looked at it. Really, it’s not that she wouldn’t but rather that she wasn’t a complete idiot. Don’t shit where you eat, and all that. Their paths crossed regularly, given that they both hunted, both provided. They were colleagues, in a sense, and she had no interest in messing that up with some casual, bored, one-night stand.
“Noah,” she says with a grin that is a real grin, and not something designed with ulterior motives in mind. Her braid, as ever, hangs over her scar. It’s a stupid habit of hers, like somehow her hair can hide the truth. Her near death (no, she’d died, they said her heart had stopped) and Erebor’s real death was a well known story in Halo. Just because they didn’t see the scar didn’t make it less real. Still, it was a habit and comfort she allowed herself. “Blind, hungry, bored. So I’d say I’m doing great, as most of this is pretty normal around here. How are you?”
She doesn’t pay much mind when the door creaks open. The tavern was busy (well, busy by Halo’s standards) today anyway, and she’s too preoccupied wondering if she shouldn’t go see the world outside Halo. Not leave for good, but leave long enough to find out what’s been going on, to maybe score some half decent, sun-fattened game and come back home to Korbin. Her brother was itching to leave, to be his charming self somewhere else and gain information. It was a thing he was good at, a thing Weaver was decent enough at given simply the existence of her breasts. Men liked to talk to breasts.
She pays slightly more mind when someone sits down next to her, only because she is not oblivious. He orders a drink in the same way she had, without words, and in a moment an ale sits in front of him. The ale was worse than the liquor here though, and so she’d always figured if she was going to drink piss it might as well be the stuff that got her drunk faster. Well, as drunk as anyone could afford to be in Halo, which was probably really just slightly buzzed. He is the first to speak though, and Weaver finally actually turns to him at the sound of a familiar voice.
If anyone had to interrupt her brooding, she is glad it is Noah. He was on the rather short list of men she hadn’t slept with in Halo, which was awkward or not depending on how you looked at it. Really, it’s not that she wouldn’t but rather that she wasn’t a complete idiot. Don’t shit where you eat, and all that. Their paths crossed regularly, given that they both hunted, both provided. They were colleagues, in a sense, and she had no interest in messing that up with some casual, bored, one-night stand.
“Noah,” she says with a grin that is a real grin, and not something designed with ulterior motives in mind. Her braid, as ever, hangs over her scar. It’s a stupid habit of hers, like somehow her hair can hide the truth. Her near death (no, she’d died, they said her heart had stopped) and Erebor’s real death was a well known story in Halo. Just because they didn’t see the scar didn’t make it less real. Still, it was a habit and comfort she allowed herself. “Blind, hungry, bored. So I’d say I’m doing great, as most of this is pretty normal around here. How are you?”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
