WESSEX
the wraith
Nodding absently at the memory of meeting Weaver, the Wraith can’t help but let a small, sad smile loose. “Nice to meet you. She was actually one of the first people I met here.” The others being Neron and Noah, but Weaver had stuck out. “I don’t know Korbin, really. But Weaver was… someone I liked. A lot. And will miss her.” Unable to really say more, Wessex turns and reaches for something dark - good or bad, it doesn’t matter to her - and then pulls out three shot glasses. One for each of them. Tipping the booze into the glasses feels like a good momentary distraction, and she pushes one in each of their directions. “May she burn brightly,” Wessex murmurs, before tipping her head back and seamlessly swallowing it all.
Putting the empty glass into the sink, Wessex returns to cleaning, nodding in agreement at Elena and Chuy’s assesment; there are always better ways, but grief is strange. It can cause some to be weary, others to be angry, still others numb and destructive. “Afraid I can’t hold down the bar for long - duties call me to elsewhere. Is there someone who can take over? Will Korbin want the Kraai, do you think?” The inquiries are directed at both of them, deferring to those who actually live here - trying to respect that while still being helpful.
And then there's the secret door she'll need to go through before she leaves, just in case there's anything in there that should be removed.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
