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04-27-2017, 08:19 AM
Weaver, nice? That is kind of laughable, except that lately Weaver had been trying to be nice. At least with her fellow herdmates, anyway, because she didn’t feel like chasing them all away. What good did it possibly do to be rude them, unless they deserved it? In truth, she’d just generally been a little nicer, mostly, though she still couldn’t contain her tongue when someone really deserved it. She was less than nice to the annoying Edge delegation, and far from nice when Yael had trundling in being Yael. Which to be fair, she has every right to be far from nice to the mare that once dangled her above the ground and then wiped her memory. The little golden mare and her bleeding heart had finally let guilt win and returned Weaver to normal, but there was definitely a period of Weaver’s life where she’d been someone else entirely.
Sometimes, Weaver is definitely not nice.
It’s not long before the black and white draft comes into view, and Weaver offers her a nod of greeting. “Vertigo, just the mare I’m looking for,” she says, that Cheshire grin spreading on her face. “I’ve been well. You were good, by the way, with the crazy otter thing,” she says, recalling how the once scared girl had stood up for the small creatures around her. Not that Weaver has any real soft spot for creatures and had been there entirely for the potential reward, but still. Someone needed to care about the little otters. And Vertigo had done well.
“I admit I was looking for you for far more selfish reasons than a compliment though,” she begins. Raven comes to join them then, grabbing a collection of raven feathers from behind Weaver’s wing where she’d tucked them for safekeeping. “If you don’t have more pressing herd things to make, I was hoping you could make me a black cape with raven feathers at the collar, and a few straps around the shoulders.” She pauses for a moment, hoping that all made sense, and then looks back at Vertigo adding, “If you don’t mind, of course.”
Sometimes, Weaver is definitely not nice.
It’s not long before the black and white draft comes into view, and Weaver offers her a nod of greeting. “Vertigo, just the mare I’m looking for,” she says, that Cheshire grin spreading on her face. “I’ve been well. You were good, by the way, with the crazy otter thing,” she says, recalling how the once scared girl had stood up for the small creatures around her. Not that Weaver has any real soft spot for creatures and had been there entirely for the potential reward, but still. Someone needed to care about the little otters. And Vertigo had done well.
“I admit I was looking for you for far more selfish reasons than a compliment though,” she begins. Raven comes to join them then, grabbing a collection of raven feathers from behind Weaver’s wing where she’d tucked them for safekeeping. “If you don’t have more pressing herd things to make, I was hoping you could make me a black cape with raven feathers at the collar, and a few straps around the shoulders.” She pauses for a moment, hoping that all made sense, and then looks back at Vertigo adding, “If you don’t mind, of course.”
- weaver -
@Vertigo
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