She notices how the flirting diminishes, and she lets it. In a way, that’s exactly what she has asked for. But the truth is she’s enjoying the conversation, getting to know him. Casual flirting will always be fun, but she likes this so much more. She wasn’t lying, or even deflecting, when she said she craved connection. There was something to be said for it, something that seemed to get lost far too often.
He reaches out to console her this time, and she lets him. There’s more simmering bitterness over the prejudice against mages than there is over the loss of her family. How is it she could come to terms with one and not the other? Or why did she come to terms with loss so much more easily than what she was? ”I’m sorry you dealt with it as well, in your own way.” They each understood what it was like to be hated for what they were.
”Fire manipulation, like my mother.” (because she doesn’t technically have healing magic at the time of this thread) ”I haven’t really learned how to use it though, but I want to. And learn some other magics. I might as well embrace it. The gods don’t care if I’m weak or powerful, so might as well learn to be powerful.” She says with a bit of a shrug. Besides, she wasn’t quite so busy just trying to feed her and Korbin anymore. With the portal open, life was a bit easier, and she actually felt like she had time to spend learning. ”How about you?” she asks, curious as he was. The only other mage she really knows is Deimos, and he doesn’t talk much about it. Well, really, he just doesn’t talk much.
She takes another sip of her drink, though her tongue is plenty loose and her cheeks warm and pink by now. She simply nods in response. ”Trust me, I get it. I just refuse to waste what I was given. I’m lucky to have escaped death.” Her voice is soft, though it’s clear she means that somewhat literally. She did escape death. She should have died. Maybe further proof that even Mort doesn’t want her, or more likely, she was just lucky in that moment.
Her grins widens at the mention of her mother though. ”She was.” Weaver loved her mother, was damn lucky to have a mom like that. Not everyone would agree, she would expect. Her mother was unorthodox and demanding, expecting her children to thrive on their own. But she loved fiercely, and it was a good life. She is thankful for all her mother had taught her. He talks of his own training, and then asks if she would like to trade tips. Her face brightens, clearly pleased at the idea. ”I would love to,” she says, sincere and excited at the possibility.
He is so sad at the next statement. Weaver gives him a bit of a playful grin though, the way her mother might have when they’d scraped a knee as a child. She never coddled, and though Weaver had learned some kindness her mother hadn’t had, she’d learn her mother’s approach too. Always pushing, one step at a time, for something more. ”It’s never too late to figure out how to thrive.”
He reaches out to console her this time, and she lets him. There’s more simmering bitterness over the prejudice against mages than there is over the loss of her family. How is it she could come to terms with one and not the other? Or why did she come to terms with loss so much more easily than what she was? ”I’m sorry you dealt with it as well, in your own way.” They each understood what it was like to be hated for what they were.
”Fire manipulation, like my mother.” (
She takes another sip of her drink, though her tongue is plenty loose and her cheeks warm and pink by now. She simply nods in response. ”Trust me, I get it. I just refuse to waste what I was given. I’m lucky to have escaped death.” Her voice is soft, though it’s clear she means that somewhat literally. She did escape death. She should have died. Maybe further proof that even Mort doesn’t want her, or more likely, she was just lucky in that moment.
Her grins widens at the mention of her mother though. ”She was.” Weaver loved her mother, was damn lucky to have a mom like that. Not everyone would agree, she would expect. Her mother was unorthodox and demanding, expecting her children to thrive on their own. But she loved fiercely, and it was a good life. She is thankful for all her mother had taught her. He talks of his own training, and then asks if she would like to trade tips. Her face brightens, clearly pleased at the idea. ”I would love to,” she says, sincere and excited at the possibility.
He is so sad at the next statement. Weaver gives him a bit of a playful grin though, the way her mother might have when they’d scraped a knee as a child. She never coddled, and though Weaver had learned some kindness her mother hadn’t had, she’d learn her mother’s approach too. Always pushing, one step at a time, for something more. ”It’s never too late to figure out how to thrive.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
