The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
She laughs, loud and clearly amused. ”No one ever calls me mother,” she says, still chuckling. Though unoffended, the term simply does not fit her. Weaver is not the motherly type, not really. Even if she’d played that role for Korbin sometimes, she was not motherly. Then again, neither had her mother actually been motherly. She’d cared for them, protected them, and simultaneously let them learn how to kiss their own boo boos all better.
”No,” she confirms. ”I got each one after a family member died. I was usually mildly drunk, it was always late, and I just knocked on the door of his house.” It helps when you are friends with the tattoo artist, after all. It also helps to be a sad, grieving, attractive woman. She chuckles at the comment though, looking at the empty glass but figuring it probably doesn’t need to be refilled. Besides, the bottle is on the table if she is wrong. ”Well luckily for you, we have rooms.” Not that he doesn’t know that, but still, she can tease him all the same.
Weaver can only nod at his comment, finding it not quite the same but knowing that her brother was going through something. What Sunjata had been forced to do was hardly comparable to the few deaths either Korbin or she had dealt with, and yet, the number doesn’t really matter. It isn’t easier because it’s three rather than ten. Each one hurts all the same. It did not help that he'd had to kill a cannibal, someone he’d once known. Korbin was never made for killing.
He explains more, and she listens, nodding slightly. ”This is Caido. Things only ever get so nice.” Not that she really knows what to expect. There’s some gossip about other areas, but she has no idea how much of it is true, how much of it is old stories, or how much is simply make believe. Only time will give them the truth. ”Though I suppose all that makes sense.” After all, who was not in guild for a little back scratching?
”No,” she confirms. ”I got each one after a family member died. I was usually mildly drunk, it was always late, and I just knocked on the door of his house.” It helps when you are friends with the tattoo artist, after all. It also helps to be a sad, grieving, attractive woman. She chuckles at the comment though, looking at the empty glass but figuring it probably doesn’t need to be refilled. Besides, the bottle is on the table if she is wrong. ”Well luckily for you, we have rooms.” Not that he doesn’t know that, but still, she can tease him all the same.
Weaver can only nod at his comment, finding it not quite the same but knowing that her brother was going through something. What Sunjata had been forced to do was hardly comparable to the few deaths either Korbin or she had dealt with, and yet, the number doesn’t really matter. It isn’t easier because it’s three rather than ten. Each one hurts all the same. It did not help that he'd had to kill a cannibal, someone he’d once known. Korbin was never made for killing.
He explains more, and she listens, nodding slightly. ”This is Caido. Things only ever get so nice.” Not that she really knows what to expect. There’s some gossip about other areas, but she has no idea how much of it is true, how much of it is old stories, or how much is simply make believe. Only time will give them the truth. ”Though I suppose all that makes sense.” After all, who was not in guild for a little back scratching?
Weaver
