for there are many ways to kill a man they say
As much as Wessex hates to re-live an ass-kicking, she cannot deny the odd sort of magnetism that draws her to the blue and black pegasus, the Sultana of the Throat. It’s a different sort of draw than her attraction to Tiamat - that is all puppy love and infatuation. This is more; respect is the basis of it, and an acknowledgement that she, Wessex, has much to learn still about fighting. Alright, there’s a smidgen of hero worship in there, as she has not yet realized that she’s missing an older, battle-scarred female idol in her fairly simple life. This is her new Lagertha, though she does not realize it, and there is much that can go wrong. But if there is anyone that might help repair the North-South relationship, it is probably their Lady (who is oddly absent lately - it makes her worry), and then maybe some of the newbies, those who weren’t around when all the bad feelings began.
The Corporal is in her place as bouncer-cum-bodyguard, stern-looking and sprouting enough spikey bits to deter most anyone (hopefully) who might seek to cause trouble, when the first guest arrives. She is surprised to see it’s Ampere, who… after awhile does not seem to be having much fun. It’s still early and quiet, so Wessex excuses herself from her station for a moment and heads towards the pegasus. She grabs a basket of fermenting apples from one end of the food area while en-route, coming up behind the Sultana and asking with a mouth full of dried grass, “Looking for these?”
They had a lot, as someone (not Wessex) had the forethought to have the same feelings their visitor must be having. She knows alcohol is a great facilitator of both good and ill will, and it is with the former that places the collection on the ground in front of her, taking one for herself. She can’t have too many, of course, being ‘on-duty’ for the first part of the festival, but she’s a big girl (literally), and can probably hold her alcohol. “How’s it going, Ampere?” she asks casually, never one for titles, really. They’ve already sweated and bled on each other, and in Wessex’s logical mind, that creates the foundation for an intimacy of deep friendship. They just have to let it blossom.
I am Iron and I Forge Myself
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[O] the night is young [MAIN FESTIVAL THREAD]
