“Nope, just as my brother isn’t a hunter even though he grew up with a bunch of us.” Korbin could hunt, and he did when she needed the help but she tried to stick to smaller game, to things and places she could manage on her own. He did not like to hunt, but damn if he couldn’t charm the pants off of anyone or their wallet with them. That was his real skill, to charm you out of everything without you even realizing it. Sometimes she wondered if he wasn’t an illusionist in disguise, just pretending to be attuned instead, though she knew he did not lie to her.
In the end though, she could live in the sadness of her life or she could move on from it. It does not mean she didn’t mourn the loss of her family, but what did it do her to drown in sorrow? She didn’t see the point in getting lost in it, in giving up or giving in. Besides, her mother would have burned her bed out from beneath her and told her to stop it, and Erebor would have given her that disappointed stare of his that always managed to break her heart. Which was something, because her heart was a hard thing to break. It was a closely guarded thing, never given away easily (though given away fiercely, when she does).
She gives him a smile at his words, though it’s not her usual mischievous, shit-eating grin but rather something a little sad, unable to put all her usual bravado behind it. “They would not want me to waste my life simply because theirs was short. So I will live for all of them. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink more and fuck more, because I’m making it up for a few extra people.” The last part she says with a laugh, falling back into herself at the joke and shrugging off the moment of sadness. She cannot abide sorrow for long.
He accepts the deal, and she smiles broader, taking the sheath and adding it to her belt. “Now I just need to find a good knife for it. Don’t worry, I will be sure to fill it with something stellar.” A truth that he could easily believe, she suspects, given the array of knives already on her person. They were all different, their varying hilts gleaming in different sizes and different metals.
In the end though, she could live in the sadness of her life or she could move on from it. It does not mean she didn’t mourn the loss of her family, but what did it do her to drown in sorrow? She didn’t see the point in getting lost in it, in giving up or giving in. Besides, her mother would have burned her bed out from beneath her and told her to stop it, and Erebor would have given her that disappointed stare of his that always managed to break her heart. Which was something, because her heart was a hard thing to break. It was a closely guarded thing, never given away easily (though given away fiercely, when she does).
She gives him a smile at his words, though it’s not her usual mischievous, shit-eating grin but rather something a little sad, unable to put all her usual bravado behind it. “They would not want me to waste my life simply because theirs was short. So I will live for all of them. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink more and fuck more, because I’m making it up for a few extra people.” The last part she says with a laugh, falling back into herself at the joke and shrugging off the moment of sadness. She cannot abide sorrow for long.
He accepts the deal, and she smiles broader, taking the sheath and adding it to her belt. “Now I just need to find a good knife for it. Don’t worry, I will be sure to fill it with something stellar.” A truth that he could easily believe, she suspects, given the array of knives already on her person. They were all different, their varying hilts gleaming in different sizes and different metals.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
