Floating Key
07-18-2017, 05:51 PM
She would love to turn tail and get the hell out of here, but where would she possibly go? This place was connected to nothing, as far as she could figure out. The Portal seemed like a one-way trip, probably leading into nothing but the blackness that swallowed her home whole. Trust her, she’s tired of moving and was very happy to have settled in the Basin. The place had been perfect, had suited her, and she’s liked the members. You really think she wants to be here? It’s this that grates her more than anything, this strange feeling of actually missing a place. She’s never really missed anything or anyone, not even her family who she left behind without a backward glance.
The members of the Basin were here, scattered about, but here. They’d all found one another in the Portal, had at least made certain they were alive and well, but then they’d gone their own way. What else were they supposed to do? She hates not knowing they are safely tucked away in a mountain though, hates not having some place to go and find them all. It would be with sheer luck that they ran into each other now and though she imagines they will, in fact, run into one another it’s not the same.
So yea, she’d love to get the hell out of here too and leave the Riftians to their hell-hole, but that option was ripped from beneath her by their own Gods. An eye for an eye and all that, yea, but the only people paying for it are the ones who didn’t start the damn war. The fish-mare is not entirely pleasant at first, but then her ears prick up and she’s nice enough. She does not question that Weaver isn’t from here, but offers it like a statement, like Weaver doesn’t damn well know she’s not from here. Whatever, she doesn’t really blame the mare. After all, Weaver’s always been best with blunt conversations.
She looks calm enough, having always been good at hiding her emotions. It would be a strange magic that let someone see beneath her mask, but those magics exist, and others, like Mortuus, just sort of figured her out. Her mask was good, but it wasn’t perfect, a fact that she was annoyed with and intended to work on. The mare doesn’t say anything though, so Weaver has no idea what she’s thinking, and when the topic of conversation turns to fruit she does her best to care. Though as the mare describes it more…what? “Heal my mind?” she repeats in a question, wondering what kind of fruit requires mind healing in the first place.
This does not stop her from taking a bite of the fruit that the mare gestures too, hoping like hell it’s as fun as Mortuus’s recreational drugs had been. She could use that sweet bliss, not just the sweetness on her tongue. Though the flavor of the fruit is quite enjoyable, and she’s thankful for something that doesn’t seem likely to kill her on sight. She savors it for a moment, feeling no effects that might hint at something more fun to come. Damn. They better have drugs somewhere in this place.
“Any chance you can tell me…” she pauses, thinking for a moment and then shaking her head with what looks like a genuine smile, a strange thing that curves only half her mouth. “Hell, I don’t even know what. Anything about this place would be helpful.”
The members of the Basin were here, scattered about, but here. They’d all found one another in the Portal, had at least made certain they were alive and well, but then they’d gone their own way. What else were they supposed to do? She hates not knowing they are safely tucked away in a mountain though, hates not having some place to go and find them all. It would be with sheer luck that they ran into each other now and though she imagines they will, in fact, run into one another it’s not the same.
So yea, she’d love to get the hell out of here too and leave the Riftians to their hell-hole, but that option was ripped from beneath her by their own Gods. An eye for an eye and all that, yea, but the only people paying for it are the ones who didn’t start the damn war. The fish-mare is not entirely pleasant at first, but then her ears prick up and she’s nice enough. She does not question that Weaver isn’t from here, but offers it like a statement, like Weaver doesn’t damn well know she’s not from here. Whatever, she doesn’t really blame the mare. After all, Weaver’s always been best with blunt conversations.
She looks calm enough, having always been good at hiding her emotions. It would be a strange magic that let someone see beneath her mask, but those magics exist, and others, like Mortuus, just sort of figured her out. Her mask was good, but it wasn’t perfect, a fact that she was annoyed with and intended to work on. The mare doesn’t say anything though, so Weaver has no idea what she’s thinking, and when the topic of conversation turns to fruit she does her best to care. Though as the mare describes it more…what? “Heal my mind?” she repeats in a question, wondering what kind of fruit requires mind healing in the first place.
This does not stop her from taking a bite of the fruit that the mare gestures too, hoping like hell it’s as fun as Mortuus’s recreational drugs had been. She could use that sweet bliss, not just the sweetness on her tongue. Though the flavor of the fruit is quite enjoyable, and she’s thankful for something that doesn’t seem likely to kill her on sight. She savors it for a moment, feeling no effects that might hint at something more fun to come. Damn. They better have drugs somewhere in this place.
“Any chance you can tell me…” she pauses, thinking for a moment and then shaking her head with what looks like a genuine smile, a strange thing that curves only half her mouth. “Hell, I don’t even know what. Anything about this place would be helpful.”
- weaver -
