if it doesn't burn a little
”You’ll find I’m more open minded than the average natural,” she points out, just in case he hadn’t noticed yet. Truthfully she doesn’t much care where you come from or what you’ve done in the past so long as you prove yourself in the present. If Neron could prove himself a good Warden, she’d tolerate his rule. Heck, maybe at some point she’d even respect it. That said, she wasn’t a fool, and if he came wandering into her bar and wanted a drink, she’d give it to him. Whether she liked him or not didn’t change the fact he had power, and getting on his good side seemed like the clever business move. Actually, just the clever life move.
She listens as Sunjata talks of supplies, imagining that they would need to be sure to send reserves for winter because no one was reasonably getting through Halo with crates of alcohol in Deepfrost. The portal was inconveniently located, after all. Shame it couldn’t have been placed right outside the Citadel, and for a moment, she is reminded that once upon a time Halo wasn’t the frozen wasteland that it is now. Ah. The machinations of gods.
Her interest perks up at the mention of moving headquarters to Torchline, and she stops her puddle search for a moment to look up. ”Have you found out if those rumors are true?” she asks, picking that one, of all her many questions, to ask. Though she wonders if that means he has also moved, she wonders who will man the VlamVloed if not him, though for the moment she tames her millions of questions for the most intriguing of the bunch. Even she, despite her Halovian roots, felt the call of Torchline.
Weaver drops her head back to the ground, drifting past puddles that keep disappearing before she can ever look into them. ”Even the puddles are tricky bastards here,” she mutters.
She listens as Sunjata talks of supplies, imagining that they would need to be sure to send reserves for winter because no one was reasonably getting through Halo with crates of alcohol in Deepfrost. The portal was inconveniently located, after all. Shame it couldn’t have been placed right outside the Citadel, and for a moment, she is reminded that once upon a time Halo wasn’t the frozen wasteland that it is now. Ah. The machinations of gods.
Her interest perks up at the mention of moving headquarters to Torchline, and she stops her puddle search for a moment to look up. ”Have you found out if those rumors are true?” she asks, picking that one, of all her many questions, to ask. Though she wonders if that means he has also moved, she wonders who will man the VlamVloed if not him, though for the moment she tames her millions of questions for the most intriguing of the bunch. Even she, despite her Halovian roots, felt the call of Torchline.
Weaver drops her head back to the ground, drifting past puddles that keep disappearing before she can ever look into them. ”Even the puddles are tricky bastards here,” she mutters.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
