The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
His reasons for not having kids are far darker than her own, though they are definitely valid. She nods, busy pouring the shots that he could likely use right about now, though it’s clear she is listening as he talks. A good bartender can do both, after all, and it’s not like there’s anyone else here to distract her anyway.
Both shots done, the conversation and his focus shifts to her. Which is fine, as she doesn’t really mind talking about her past. There are no secrets or ghosts within it really, no tale so deep and dark as his own. ”Rather like most every other Halovian’s story, in many ways. My step-father died of disease when my older brother, Erebor, and I were teens. Korbin was still a kid. Mom disappeared in the same span, just left one day and never came back.” She shrugs slightly, simply to say that they likely will never know what happened to her. A blizzard, an ursur...Weaver still hopes it was a dragon. Something as mythical as the memory of her mother was, for her mother deserved nothing less.
”The juicy bit really is that I’m a bastard middle child. I never knew my actual dad, and I get the impression I’m not necessarily missing out. But he was the sort of man that I could see my mother with, and they had an off and on thing all their lives. Wild and improbable, according to her stories. Though regardless, John treated me like my own, and he was my father. Raised me, trained me, never treated me like someone else’s kid.” The thing is, for all the death in Weaver’s life, she’d had it pretty good. It was harder for Korbin, who’d been so much younger when he lost both his parents. Not that Weaver didn’t miss them, but she had memories of them, she had time with them.
”Erebor and I raised Korbin for a few years together. He picked up training me where John left off, and life was pretty good, as much as life in Halo can be. Till we fucked up, anyway. Not that it was really anyone’s fault, sometimes blizzards just come out of nowhere here. ” This is the part that breaks her and Korbin both, though in different ways and for different reasons. She takes another long drag of the cigarette, before grabbing a small plate and snuffing out the butt. Her hands now free, she pushes her braid behind her and tugs the top of her shirt down enough to reveal the ursur tusk shaped scar in her chest, the skin forever mangled and discolored. ”Well, blizzards and urusrs.”
Both shots done, the conversation and his focus shifts to her. Which is fine, as she doesn’t really mind talking about her past. There are no secrets or ghosts within it really, no tale so deep and dark as his own. ”Rather like most every other Halovian’s story, in many ways. My step-father died of disease when my older brother, Erebor, and I were teens. Korbin was still a kid. Mom disappeared in the same span, just left one day and never came back.” She shrugs slightly, simply to say that they likely will never know what happened to her. A blizzard, an ursur...Weaver still hopes it was a dragon. Something as mythical as the memory of her mother was, for her mother deserved nothing less.
”The juicy bit really is that I’m a bastard middle child. I never knew my actual dad, and I get the impression I’m not necessarily missing out. But he was the sort of man that I could see my mother with, and they had an off and on thing all their lives. Wild and improbable, according to her stories. Though regardless, John treated me like my own, and he was my father. Raised me, trained me, never treated me like someone else’s kid.” The thing is, for all the death in Weaver’s life, she’d had it pretty good. It was harder for Korbin, who’d been so much younger when he lost both his parents. Not that Weaver didn’t miss them, but she had memories of them, she had time with them.
”Erebor and I raised Korbin for a few years together. He picked up training me where John left off, and life was pretty good, as much as life in Halo can be. Till we fucked up, anyway. Not that it was really anyone’s fault, sometimes blizzards just come out of nowhere here. ” This is the part that breaks her and Korbin both, though in different ways and for different reasons. She takes another long drag of the cigarette, before grabbing a small plate and snuffing out the butt. Her hands now free, she pushes her braid behind her and tugs the top of her shirt down enough to reveal the ursur tusk shaped scar in her chest, the skin forever mangled and discolored. ”Well, blizzards and urusrs.”
Weaver
