For being a Halovian native, Weaver actually isn’t in the market all that much. Her brother Korbin handles most of the trading, given that he’s generally better at it and she’s usually busy trying to keep them fed. Lately though, that has changed. Trying to start a bar actually turns out to be a lot of work, and she’s spent a substantial amount of time in the market working with the vendors here to get the things she needed. On the plus side, even if she isn’t here that often, everyone knows the Hale siblings and their story. Not that it’s an unusual one, but the Hales have been subject to the kindness of Halovians for so much of their largely parentless life that it’s not hard to convince the vendors to front her the stuff with the promise of free booze, lodging, and food once it’s all done.
She’d just finished talking to a local glassblower to get some unusual drinkware (Weaver loves her unusual things) when she spots the woman in the corner of the market working on a lantern. Halo is small and she knows the face, though she has never actually met Neron’s new(ish) Captain. Weaver stops at another stall, tossing over some jerky in exchange for a simple lantern base and some paint. She’d made all but one of her lanterns, and suddenly, this seems like a good time to make the last.
Weaver makes her way through the market toward the other woman. Her scythe is strapped to her back, it’s curved blade sweeping above her head. Knives line her waist, though only a glimpse of them can be seen beneath her black cloak. She doesn’t actually need the cloak anymore, but finds she wears it anyway out of habit and perhaps to keep curious onlookers from staring. Not that they didn’t all know what she was, but still, sometimes it was easier not to flaunt it.
”Care for some company?” she asks, holding up her undecorated lantern and the paint, which she is willing to share, as if in question.
She’d just finished talking to a local glassblower to get some unusual drinkware (Weaver loves her unusual things) when she spots the woman in the corner of the market working on a lantern. Halo is small and she knows the face, though she has never actually met Neron’s new(ish) Captain. Weaver stops at another stall, tossing over some jerky in exchange for a simple lantern base and some paint. She’d made all but one of her lanterns, and suddenly, this seems like a good time to make the last.
Weaver makes her way through the market toward the other woman. Her scythe is strapped to her back, it’s curved blade sweeping above her head. Knives line her waist, though only a glimpse of them can be seen beneath her black cloak. She doesn’t actually need the cloak anymore, but finds she wears it anyway out of habit and perhaps to keep curious onlookers from staring. Not that they didn’t all know what she was, but still, sometimes it was easier not to flaunt it.
”Care for some company?” she asks, holding up her undecorated lantern and the paint, which she is willing to share, as if in question.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
