She chuckles with him. ”Vacations don’t have to be dull,” she says, as if there is really an option for vacationing in Caido. For her there is - she could just come to Torchline and find something to entertain herself with. For him though? If Torchline is home, then would life just be like a constant vacation? ”There is always something fun to do.” Something fun meaning something nefarious, probably, or simply unseemly. Or someone to do. Options, ya know?
Weaver’s eyes wander, taking in the ocean, the impossible vastness of something other than the endless tundra of Halo. It is so blue, sky and ocean both, instead of the gray and white she knows. His voice brings her back to him, and she smiles slightly at the comment. Pleased at being called beautiful, yes (though not overly so, for admittedly she is not humble in this regard and she knows what she looks like), but for more than that. Some because she thinks he’s trying to warn her, to be kind, though maybe she is misinterpreting. And some because she is more capable than she appears.
”It is a good thing I am a dangerous woman, then,” she says with a grin so much like her mother’s in that moment. ”My mother believed in raising children that understood the world as it is, both it’s good and its bad. I will not forget the warning, though.” Because she won’t take the advice lightly, either. That is how one dies, by being overconfident, being flippant in the face of reality. Reality was cruel.
”What do you do here, to keep busy?” she asks after a moment’s pause. If he is not one for being idle, she cannot help but be curious as to what keeps him occupied.
Weaver’s eyes wander, taking in the ocean, the impossible vastness of something other than the endless tundra of Halo. It is so blue, sky and ocean both, instead of the gray and white she knows. His voice brings her back to him, and she smiles slightly at the comment. Pleased at being called beautiful, yes (though not overly so, for admittedly she is not humble in this regard and she knows what she looks like), but for more than that. Some because she thinks he’s trying to warn her, to be kind, though maybe she is misinterpreting. And some because she is more capable than she appears.
”It is a good thing I am a dangerous woman, then,” she says with a grin so much like her mother’s in that moment. ”My mother believed in raising children that understood the world as it is, both it’s good and its bad. I will not forget the warning, though.” Because she won’t take the advice lightly, either. That is how one dies, by being overconfident, being flippant in the face of reality. Reality was cruel.
”What do you do here, to keep busy?” she asks after a moment’s pause. If he is not one for being idle, she cannot help but be curious as to what keeps him occupied.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
