”Can I offer some...advice, I guess. Sort of advice?” She shrugs, not sure it’s exactly advice, but rather maybe just friendly girly bonding. Honestly she doesn’t know, because she doesn’t do this that often. There are not a lot of females in her life, and it’s strangely nice to have girl talk. ”You know who he is. You have to love all of who he is. Which means the part where he looks back. At the end of the day, girl, if he’s coming home to you, you’ve won.” She knows it’s easier to say than to live with, and certainly easier still for a girl like Weaver, she suspects. She’s the type of girl who’s never had a problem looking back. ”If you want to get some experience though, I will do my best to help.” It’s not like two pretty girls in a bar couldn’t find something to do, after all.
Letting her clothes fall back into place, Weaver turns back around. ”Thanks. There’s a good tattoo artist in Halo. We don’t have much, but do have that,” she says with a chuckle. ”Sunjata’s been pretty open to my influence, really. I can’t complain. He wants just enough of the VlamVloed in there to make them obviously connected, but everything else he’s left to me. It seems like a fair enough trade.”
Weaver cringes just slightly at the sight of the ursur pelt, the reminder of that training sitting so plainly before her. She had to give Zariah credit for not wasting the animal though, or keeping it to herself, both of which would have pissed her off more. Weaver had gotten more meat than she knew what to do with, and she’d dried it out to last for the foreseeable future. Tossing another log from her pack onto the fire, Weaver comes to join Maea. She removes her scythe and places it next to her, so she can sit down more comfortably. She leans back on one arm, legs crossed, a picture of casual confidence, of a girl who belongs in the middle of a tundra.
”Well you know more than me,” she admits. Weaver had signed on without knowing much of anything, jumping headfirst into something perhaps she ought to have asked more questions about. Though Weaver was prone to doing that in much of her life. The next thing has her cocking her head slightly. Two had died? ”Can I ask what happened?” she says, voice a little quieter, respectful of the dead.
Her interest quirks at the offer to make cider. Grinning widely, Weaver nods. ”I would absolutely love that, if you’d be willing.” Raza had her mamajuana, which tasted exactly like Torchline. Weaver wanted something that tasted like Halo. A little cider, a little whiskey...something deep and bold and warming. Like sitting beside a crackling fire on an ursur pelt.
Letting her clothes fall back into place, Weaver turns back around. ”Thanks. There’s a good tattoo artist in Halo. We don’t have much, but do have that,” she says with a chuckle. ”Sunjata’s been pretty open to my influence, really. I can’t complain. He wants just enough of the VlamVloed in there to make them obviously connected, but everything else he’s left to me. It seems like a fair enough trade.”
Weaver cringes just slightly at the sight of the ursur pelt, the reminder of that training sitting so plainly before her. She had to give Zariah credit for not wasting the animal though, or keeping it to herself, both of which would have pissed her off more. Weaver had gotten more meat than she knew what to do with, and she’d dried it out to last for the foreseeable future. Tossing another log from her pack onto the fire, Weaver comes to join Maea. She removes her scythe and places it next to her, so she can sit down more comfortably. She leans back on one arm, legs crossed, a picture of casual confidence, of a girl who belongs in the middle of a tundra.
”Well you know more than me,” she admits. Weaver had signed on without knowing much of anything, jumping headfirst into something perhaps she ought to have asked more questions about. Though Weaver was prone to doing that in much of her life. The next thing has her cocking her head slightly. Two had died? ”Can I ask what happened?” she says, voice a little quieter, respectful of the dead.
Her interest quirks at the offer to make cider. Grinning widely, Weaver nods. ”I would absolutely love that, if you’d be willing.” Raza had her mamajuana, which tasted exactly like Torchline. Weaver wanted something that tasted like Halo. A little cider, a little whiskey...something deep and bold and warming. Like sitting beside a crackling fire on an ursur pelt.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
