Her joke falls flat. She notices the way he eyes her with suspicion and it takes effort not to sigh aloud. She manages, sighing only in her head instead. Perhaps working with the dead makes one a little stiff, or maybe you just have to be stiff in order to work with the dead. Still, she is not actually that nefarious. Weaver has earned the things in her life. She hunts in the deadly tundra of Halo and trades the game she finds rather than steals. She may sneak around occasionally and eavesdrop on conversations in bars, but only because information is harder to get when you aren’t a bit sneaky and it’s rather useful. The problem though is that she is willing to do what it takes, and not everyone is so willing. Not everyone has a good view of what it sometimes takes.
Exactly what draws her in, she’s not sure. It is not to stare at dead bodies, not exactly. It’s to understand, to understand more about the Hallowed Grounds. What he does is part of that, part of the rituals and customs of this place that is so close to her and yet has been out of reach for so long. She wants to understand too how they came to be here, the dead. Are there any elderly here, do they make it to old age? Or has the plight of the gods kept them from living?
She wants to know what is coming for her.
He leads her inside and she follows, nodding as he explains that the screen keeps busy-bodies like her (he is of course much nicer than this) from peeking in unwanted. Her demeanor changes, softens, becomes something more respectful as she enters the mortuary. Why? Because she knows death. It is a familiar companion and a lingering shadow in her life, and she respects those who have died far more than those who still live.
He asks about Halo and she nods again. “We do. We burn our dead, for practical reasons that we cannot bury them, though for more than that. We give them to a warmth they never experienced in life in Halo. We let them burn to feel the kiss of the sun. If there is no body, which happens a lot in Halo, we burn something that was important to them. For those that aligned with a god, we burn something that would be an offering to that god as well.” She grows almost sad as she speaks of it, like she is recalling a service she does not want to. It is not one service, but many. Though above all it is the service she missed that hurts the most. “Each is a bit different, but the general service is always beautiful.”
Exactly what draws her in, she’s not sure. It is not to stare at dead bodies, not exactly. It’s to understand, to understand more about the Hallowed Grounds. What he does is part of that, part of the rituals and customs of this place that is so close to her and yet has been out of reach for so long. She wants to understand too how they came to be here, the dead. Are there any elderly here, do they make it to old age? Or has the plight of the gods kept them from living?
She wants to know what is coming for her.
He leads her inside and she follows, nodding as he explains that the screen keeps busy-bodies like her (he is of course much nicer than this) from peeking in unwanted. Her demeanor changes, softens, becomes something more respectful as she enters the mortuary. Why? Because she knows death. It is a familiar companion and a lingering shadow in her life, and she respects those who have died far more than those who still live.
He asks about Halo and she nods again. “We do. We burn our dead, for practical reasons that we cannot bury them, though for more than that. We give them to a warmth they never experienced in life in Halo. We let them burn to feel the kiss of the sun. If there is no body, which happens a lot in Halo, we burn something that was important to them. For those that aligned with a god, we burn something that would be an offering to that god as well.” She grows almost sad as she speaks of it, like she is recalling a service she does not want to. It is not one service, but many. Though above all it is the service she missed that hurts the most. “Each is a bit different, but the general service is always beautiful.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
