if it doesn't burn a little
”You own a bar and trade in information. It does not take a genius to figure out that you’d find such a venue everywhere you go,” she says with a wink. After all, she was no different. The Hanged Man was one of the first places she’d found when she arrived in Torchline, along with its owner. The best sort of people to know, after all. ”Try the mamajuana. Sweet as hell, but tastes like swinging in a honey hammock in the shade,” she says, parroting the description Raza had given her because it was the best description out there. ”Though I agree, I would pick whiskey any day.” Which makes sense; she looks like the sort of girl who enjoys whiskey neat.
He gives her no more information on Ronin and Remi, and she doesn’t pry. It’s enough to realize he must have known them before Torchline, which means they must have come from the Hollowed Grounds at some point. Other than that though, she can’t decide if they are remarkable names for any other reason. Maybe they meant something in the Grounds that she’d yet to discover.
He explains what he saw, and she shrugs slightly. ”Perhaps it is telling you that you have a very bright future ahead of you.” Which did seem entirely plausible, simply given who he was. Though she can’t help but wonder what the Fae might say, if they were to interpret it. Did they understand the puddles better? Perhaps. ”Nothing,” she says, kicking at the place where a puddle was only moments before. Like the gods, they did not want to be seen by her.
He gives her no more information on Ronin and Remi, and she doesn’t pry. It’s enough to realize he must have known them before Torchline, which means they must have come from the Hollowed Grounds at some point. Other than that though, she can’t decide if they are remarkable names for any other reason. Maybe they meant something in the Grounds that she’d yet to discover.
He explains what he saw, and she shrugs slightly. ”Perhaps it is telling you that you have a very bright future ahead of you.” Which did seem entirely plausible, simply given who he was. Though she can’t help but wonder what the Fae might say, if they were to interpret it. Did they understand the puddles better? Perhaps. ”Nothing,” she says, kicking at the place where a puddle was only moments before. Like the gods, they did not want to be seen by her.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
