The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
”Whatever you middle name actually is, if you have one,” she says back, teasing and playful. She wasn’t going to assign him a fake middle name, wasn’t going to peg him as being one thing or another. Perhaps he was good at getting into trouble. Perhaps he simply was trouble. Trouble, determined, entrepreneurial, a friend. He was too many things for one name, and she was only just getting to know him.
Weaver chuckles at that. ”You could have bent over backward to please him, and I think he still would have disliked you.” She suspected it wasn’t necessarily Sunjata that Korbin disliked, but rather, the fact he’d given Weaver something that Korbin couldn’t. It had always been just them for so long that her brother did not like that someone else was now involved in her life. ”Though please, do tell me what happened. He hasn’t given me that story.”
He gives her a list of things he’s interested in, his mind clearly on that list, his eyes staring past her. She listens, ticking them off, taking a sip of her drink as she does. They are not things she tends to be very privy to, though perhaps that would change here. Though perhaps not. Reliable information is not all that likely to pass through these doors. Rumors and hearsay, drunken tall tales from that day's hunt. ”What have you heard of the Eirachi?” she asks, curious. Until Neron, Weaver hadn’t even thought the lady of ice existed.
Weaver chuckles at that. ”You could have bent over backward to please him, and I think he still would have disliked you.” She suspected it wasn’t necessarily Sunjata that Korbin disliked, but rather, the fact he’d given Weaver something that Korbin couldn’t. It had always been just them for so long that her brother did not like that someone else was now involved in her life. ”Though please, do tell me what happened. He hasn’t given me that story.”
He gives her a list of things he’s interested in, his mind clearly on that list, his eyes staring past her. She listens, ticking them off, taking a sip of her drink as she does. They are not things she tends to be very privy to, though perhaps that would change here. Though perhaps not. Reliable information is not all that likely to pass through these doors. Rumors and hearsay, drunken tall tales from that day's hunt. ”What have you heard of the Eirachi?” she asks, curious. Until Neron, Weaver hadn’t even thought the lady of ice existed.
Weaver
