She laughs at his response, sounding amused. ”Do you think I can be baited into bed with such an obvious trap?” The answer was no, of course. Though Weaver certainly wasn’t waiting for marriage, she did find she tended to choose men that she connected to, in some way. When she ignored this, she found that the sex was little more than going through the motions, that it lacked something vital to it being good and worthwhile. He may or may not fit that bill, and only the night would tell.
”Obviously. Though I assume you know you are handsome.” She’s not hiding it. Why bother? He is handsome. She is pretty. They feel like facts more than subjective truths, though of course it was subjective depending on who was doing the looking. ”How do you feel about ningo feathers? Sheets, beds, pillows...there are a lot of ningo feathers in the life of a Halovian. Drafty windows, roaring fires or wood stoves. Not a pretty, comfortable palace.”
That was the truth of being a Halovian, and she wondered how he would fare spending a night in her home rather than the life he was used to. To live in the palace seemed like cheating, like only posing as a Halovian, though she knew they too had to stay warm in that massive building. Honestly houses here were generally on the smaller side for that very reason - easier to keep warm.
He frowns as she talks of mageglass, and it is becoming apparent that everyone but Halovians believe it could actually be real. There were too many tales of it to believe otherwise, for all tales had some basis in truth. ”Never? That seems like giving up far too early.” After all, she knows a particular demi-god that might be capable of retrieving some, if anyone could. Particularly if led by a knowledgeable Halovian…
His next laugh is bitter and he explains how the other man had died. ”I’m sorry,” she begins, not meaning to hurt him further. “Halovian tradition usually involves burning our dead here. We give them to the fire, to a warmth they did not know in life, to a beautiful future. To die in a fire is to be honored in death.” This was particularly true in her family with a history of fire mages, but it was true of other families here as well.
As he asks his next question, life drains from him. He becomes a shell of himself, something familiar to her. She remembers those first days, after she’d clawed her way back to life. Her days had felt hollow, all blurred and hazy as if she was seeing the world through an old telescope. She’d had to fight past that too, and that had been harder than simply fighting back to life in the first place. ”My father, technically, though I never knew him. My step-father, who raised me. Died of sickness. My mother, who simply disappeared. My older brother. He died saving me.” She pauses, surprised she admitted that last bit, but maybe it would help him.
”It’s just me and my younger brother now.” She pauses, and then after a moment puts her hand beneath his chin and meets his eye. ”You have to fight past the hurt. Because there are two options. The first, it consumes you. The second, it makes your stronger.” It was cliche but true. She should know. Her life has been a string of loss and pain, but it hasn’t stopped her.
She lets her hand drop, taking another swig of her drink. ”Who do you want to be, Loren? If there were no obstacles, no constraints, who would you be?” She’s asked herself this question often, and if her answer doesn’t match with reality, she finds a way to make her answer become reality.
”Obviously. Though I assume you know you are handsome.” She’s not hiding it. Why bother? He is handsome. She is pretty. They feel like facts more than subjective truths, though of course it was subjective depending on who was doing the looking. ”How do you feel about ningo feathers? Sheets, beds, pillows...there are a lot of ningo feathers in the life of a Halovian. Drafty windows, roaring fires or wood stoves. Not a pretty, comfortable palace.”
That was the truth of being a Halovian, and she wondered how he would fare spending a night in her home rather than the life he was used to. To live in the palace seemed like cheating, like only posing as a Halovian, though she knew they too had to stay warm in that massive building. Honestly houses here were generally on the smaller side for that very reason - easier to keep warm.
He frowns as she talks of mageglass, and it is becoming apparent that everyone but Halovians believe it could actually be real. There were too many tales of it to believe otherwise, for all tales had some basis in truth. ”Never? That seems like giving up far too early.” After all, she knows a particular demi-god that might be capable of retrieving some, if anyone could. Particularly if led by a knowledgeable Halovian…
His next laugh is bitter and he explains how the other man had died. ”I’m sorry,” she begins, not meaning to hurt him further. “Halovian tradition usually involves burning our dead here. We give them to the fire, to a warmth they did not know in life, to a beautiful future. To die in a fire is to be honored in death.” This was particularly true in her family with a history of fire mages, but it was true of other families here as well.
As he asks his next question, life drains from him. He becomes a shell of himself, something familiar to her. She remembers those first days, after she’d clawed her way back to life. Her days had felt hollow, all blurred and hazy as if she was seeing the world through an old telescope. She’d had to fight past that too, and that had been harder than simply fighting back to life in the first place. ”My father, technically, though I never knew him. My step-father, who raised me. Died of sickness. My mother, who simply disappeared. My older brother. He died saving me.” She pauses, surprised she admitted that last bit, but maybe it would help him.
”It’s just me and my younger brother now.” She pauses, and then after a moment puts her hand beneath his chin and meets his eye. ”You have to fight past the hurt. Because there are two options. The first, it consumes you. The second, it makes your stronger.” It was cliche but true. She should know. Her life has been a string of loss and pain, but it hasn’t stopped her.
She lets her hand drop, taking another swig of her drink. ”Who do you want to be, Loren? If there were no obstacles, no constraints, who would you be?” She’s asked herself this question often, and if her answer doesn’t match with reality, she finds a way to make her answer become reality.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
