She is only mildly used to the sun, but her skin has tanned slightly (which is to say it is not ghostly white, anymore), and her nose has stopped being constantly red. It is usually just a nice pink, along with her cheeks. She’d traded for a light-weight, long-sleeved shirt to allow her to wander in the sun, and had generally taken to not wearing shoes anywhere she could possibly get away with it. This was the luxury she most loved; bare feet. It was not a luxury one ever got to enjoy in Halo.
Torchline appealed to her in a way the Grounds had not. She and her brother had gone to the Grounds to trade, to see what had been happening. Weaver found herself just wandering Torchline with no goals, no plans, just pleasure. It was an absolute waste of time that grated against her Halovian sensibilities of survival, and yet, here she was. Enjoying herself.
She’s wandering along the coast when a form, lying supine in the sand before her, comes into view. For a moment she thinks about skirting around him and leaving him be, but something stops her, and she makes her way a little closer before speaking. ”Care if I join you?” Because honestly, that looks like a damn fine way to spend an afternoon.
Torchline appealed to her in a way the Grounds had not. She and her brother had gone to the Grounds to trade, to see what had been happening. Weaver found herself just wandering Torchline with no goals, no plans, just pleasure. It was an absolute waste of time that grated against her Halovian sensibilities of survival, and yet, here she was. Enjoying herself.
She’s wandering along the coast when a form, lying supine in the sand before her, comes into view. For a moment she thinks about skirting around him and leaving him be, but something stops her, and she makes her way a little closer before speaking. ”Care if I join you?” Because honestly, that looks like a damn fine way to spend an afternoon.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
