WESSEX
Well, that’s nice - a compliment she’s never heard before. A brief smile flashes across the Ascended’s face as she shrugs. “Thank you. My family name is even better, if I do say so myself.” She suppose it has a certain ring to it. Her parents, at least, succeeded in anticipating some traits about their children accurately. She’s always been non-traditional. Magrethe has always been traditional. Their names suited them. Wessex is about to ask Libbs more questions when Maea speaks up again. What is she doing in the Outskirts? In the place she’s always lived (minus a brief stay at the current town hall as Queen)? Like Wessex needs a reason to do anything. “Whatever I want,” she responds mildly, tilting her head a little. See, she heard the question as a challenge - the phrasing, it kind of rubbed her the wrong way. What would be the right way to phrase it? Dunno. But it is quickly followed by a glance to the empty area around her, and then a descent into memory.
“I turned forty a few days ago. If It weren’t for the Fiat Lux monster, I might have been… imparting wisdom or something. Teaching kids how to skin a rabbit.” A shrug, and then she runs some fingers through her short hair. Forty may not seem old to many, but it was an accomplishment in their community. Once, she’d had the scars to prove her mettle; Wessex would have been a specific kind of elder - not the story-telling kind - the strategic, war-council kind. If they’d ever had someone to go to war with.
But many had died at the Festival. Their oldest. Their youngest. It was sobering.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
