Weaver has a knack for finding bars. Other people have a knack for finding food or treasure or ‘useful’ things. Weaver can find booze. But here’s the thing, it is actually useful to find a bar. Things happen at bars. Information can be gathered, friends and enemies can be made, deals can be made. Life revolves around food and liquor. Food because people gather, liquor because inhibitions die and life becomes fun.
Weaver had set out in the Grounds with more purpose than she does in Torchline. Torchline simply interests her, captivates her. The sound of the ocean is soothing, the sun is hot and miserable but she’s getting vaguely used to it. Not freezing all the time is, at least, a nice change. Though maybe in the future she’d do more exploring to other places in the winter, when Halo is at its worst and everywhere else will still feel like the tropics to her. Her fair skin has finally started to get used to the sun, tanning just enough that she can go with only a short sleeve t-shirt, pants rolled up around her ankles, and wherever there is sand no shoes. That is the real luxury - warm, sandy toes.
The bar, as one might expect, catches her attention. It is dimly lit, as if twilight, and as she enters there is a light sea breeze that cools the sweat on her neck. The woman on the bar is rather hard to miss, legs spread wide, taking up the better portion of the bar as she picks her nails with a knife. Well, Weaver can appreciate that. “Do tell me you’re on the menu,” she says with a purr, though there is something clearly playful and jesting in her voice as she comes to slide into a barstool in front of the woman.
Weaver had set out in the Grounds with more purpose than she does in Torchline. Torchline simply interests her, captivates her. The sound of the ocean is soothing, the sun is hot and miserable but she’s getting vaguely used to it. Not freezing all the time is, at least, a nice change. Though maybe in the future she’d do more exploring to other places in the winter, when Halo is at its worst and everywhere else will still feel like the tropics to her. Her fair skin has finally started to get used to the sun, tanning just enough that she can go with only a short sleeve t-shirt, pants rolled up around her ankles, and wherever there is sand no shoes. That is the real luxury - warm, sandy toes.
The bar, as one might expect, catches her attention. It is dimly lit, as if twilight, and as she enters there is a light sea breeze that cools the sweat on her neck. The woman on the bar is rather hard to miss, legs spread wide, taking up the better portion of the bar as she picks her nails with a knife. Well, Weaver can appreciate that. “Do tell me you’re on the menu,” she says with a purr, though there is something clearly playful and jesting in her voice as she comes to slide into a barstool in front of the woman.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
