Weaver is impressed at how easily Maea picks. It might not have been Weaver’s choice, but she’s not here to suggest her own choices, just make them more obvious. Because in some ways, life should be so simple. It is not, of course, but if you boil it down past the muck of emotions and the pain of truth, you can find the details beneath. Pull them out, and the rest becomes a little clearer. Perhaps Weaver is just too rational in some ways, lacking the emotions that drive normal humans. Or perhaps she’s gotten so used to feeling that the emotions have become background noise. ”There is always plenty to keep one occupied,” she agrees with a grin.
Weaver listens as Maea suggests flavors, mulling over the ideas. ”Who’s to say we can only have one flavor? I do like the idea of something like peppermint bark as well. It might actually make that shit taste good.” It is not her first choice, personally, but she can see the appeal. ”We don’t have a lot of sweet things here, though we could manage some caramel.” All the ideas are good ideas, and truthfully, she wants to make them all. ”What about something mulled? Some cinnamon, some spices, a little less sweet. I suspect Sunjata will be more likely to come back for something strong and spicy,” she says, offering Maea a wink. Not that Sunjata wouldn’t come, but Weaver suspects she’ll have a lot of free reign with a boss who only visited when he needed something.
Mort keep them, Maea says, and Weaver nods. She keeps the flames roaring for a little while longer before they settle. ”I believe the dead deserve their stories. It keeps them alive, in a way,” she agrees, knowing so many don’t agree. They may not be exactly alike, but Weaver could see a friendship blooming between her and the other mage, and she is thankful for it.
Their conversation lulls, and Weaver leans back as well, pulling up the hood of her cloak and laying herself down, always the picture of someone who belongs in the snow. The cold doesn’t bother her now either, as it once did, and she appreciates the extra bit of magic from the school. ”I always wonder what the next life is like, in Mort’s realm. Do they know what is happening here? Do they even care?” she says after a period of quiet. ”I sort of hope they don’t know and don’t care, that they get to enjoy something better.”
Weaver listens as Maea suggests flavors, mulling over the ideas. ”Who’s to say we can only have one flavor? I do like the idea of something like peppermint bark as well. It might actually make that shit taste good.” It is not her first choice, personally, but she can see the appeal. ”We don’t have a lot of sweet things here, though we could manage some caramel.” All the ideas are good ideas, and truthfully, she wants to make them all. ”What about something mulled? Some cinnamon, some spices, a little less sweet. I suspect Sunjata will be more likely to come back for something strong and spicy,” she says, offering Maea a wink. Not that Sunjata wouldn’t come, but Weaver suspects she’ll have a lot of free reign with a boss who only visited when he needed something.
Mort keep them, Maea says, and Weaver nods. She keeps the flames roaring for a little while longer before they settle. ”I believe the dead deserve their stories. It keeps them alive, in a way,” she agrees, knowing so many don’t agree. They may not be exactly alike, but Weaver could see a friendship blooming between her and the other mage, and she is thankful for it.
Their conversation lulls, and Weaver leans back as well, pulling up the hood of her cloak and laying herself down, always the picture of someone who belongs in the snow. The cold doesn’t bother her now either, as it once did, and she appreciates the extra bit of magic from the school. ”I always wonder what the next life is like, in Mort’s realm. Do they know what is happening here? Do they even care?” she says after a period of quiet. ”I sort of hope they don’t know and don’t care, that they get to enjoy something better.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
