The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
He shifts slightly closer to her, warming her cool skin. It’s a curse of being female, she’s pretty sure, that her skin is never truly warm. She can’t feel it, of course, but she can feel his warmth. It radiates like the fire behind her, and she finds herself rather toasty between them (just in case her cheeks weren’t flushed before). Still, she has never minded being warm when her life has always been full of freezing temperatures.
Weaver only shrugs at the gazelle. If Caido has them, she’s never one seen one because they certainly do not live in Halo. Though she has heard of many things, thanks to books and stories, gazelle's were apparently not in the stories she knows. The topic shifts to feathers and her brother, and she grins. ”In my defense, many of them he’d just lost. Also, you’ve met him. He deserves to have a few feathers plucked.” Though he hadn’t been so miserable then. She’d apparently caused quite a lot of that misery.
He leans back at the mention of Seren, and she props herself up on one elbow with glee in her eyes. ”You are her best friend, you know?” Weaver really just can’t help herself. Honestly, it’s really just cute. There’s a soft spot in Weaver’s heart for children, even if she’s too chicken to have her own. Seren is a sweet thing with a child’s innocence, but maybe not a terrible taste in friends. Or actually, maybe a terrible taste in friends, because many of them were Weaver’s friends as well. Saiden, Sunjata...good men, bad influences. Not that she was judging, that’s why they were her friends.
He shudders slightly as her fingers graze the membrane of the bat wing, and she pulls her fingers back, the gesture casual enough though she is aware of his response. Exactly why though, she is less sure. After all, she does not have wings and has no idea what it’s like to have its membrane touched. Maybe it just feels weird, though some part of her sort of doubts that’s the reason. Feathers reappear on his arm, draped over her like a blanket, and she settles her head back down on the pillow, her arms tucked between their chests.
His voice is a little deeper, a little huskier, betraying something maybe, though she can’t decide what. Tiredness? The slow seep of the alcohol through their veins? The sorrow? Their closeness? All of it? But he offers her a prize, and she grins. ”No, I am not so mean as that.” A soft breeze blows over his arm, ruffling the feathers slightly, and she plucks a few that move as if they are older and likely to molt, should he decide to stick around in that form long enough. Should be relatively painless, and she tucks them into the pocket of her pants for safe keeping. ”Since we have talked of shitty things all night, tell me something good,” she says, a slight purr in her voice, her head on the pillow and her eyes half closed, lulled by his warmth, by the feel of his feathers and skin. Honestly, it’s just nice not to care, for a minute. It’s just nice to feel safe, for a minute.
Weaver only shrugs at the gazelle. If Caido has them, she’s never one seen one because they certainly do not live in Halo. Though she has heard of many things, thanks to books and stories, gazelle's were apparently not in the stories she knows. The topic shifts to feathers and her brother, and she grins. ”In my defense, many of them he’d just lost. Also, you’ve met him. He deserves to have a few feathers plucked.” Though he hadn’t been so miserable then. She’d apparently caused quite a lot of that misery.
He leans back at the mention of Seren, and she props herself up on one elbow with glee in her eyes. ”You are her best friend, you know?” Weaver really just can’t help herself. Honestly, it’s really just cute. There’s a soft spot in Weaver’s heart for children, even if she’s too chicken to have her own. Seren is a sweet thing with a child’s innocence, but maybe not a terrible taste in friends. Or actually, maybe a terrible taste in friends, because many of them were Weaver’s friends as well. Saiden, Sunjata...good men, bad influences. Not that she was judging, that’s why they were her friends.
He shudders slightly as her fingers graze the membrane of the bat wing, and she pulls her fingers back, the gesture casual enough though she is aware of his response. Exactly why though, she is less sure. After all, she does not have wings and has no idea what it’s like to have its membrane touched. Maybe it just feels weird, though some part of her sort of doubts that’s the reason. Feathers reappear on his arm, draped over her like a blanket, and she settles her head back down on the pillow, her arms tucked between their chests.
His voice is a little deeper, a little huskier, betraying something maybe, though she can’t decide what. Tiredness? The slow seep of the alcohol through their veins? The sorrow? Their closeness? All of it? But he offers her a prize, and she grins. ”No, I am not so mean as that.” A soft breeze blows over his arm, ruffling the feathers slightly, and she plucks a few that move as if they are older and likely to molt, should he decide to stick around in that form long enough. Should be relatively painless, and she tucks them into the pocket of her pants for safe keeping. ”Since we have talked of shitty things all night, tell me something good,” she says, a slight purr in her voice, her head on the pillow and her eyes half closed, lulled by his warmth, by the feel of his feathers and skin. Honestly, it’s just nice not to care, for a minute. It’s just nice to feel safe, for a minute.
Weaver
