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04-09-2017, 11:43 AM
i don't rise from the ashes, i make them.
Weaver could probably agree to the idea of slim, sweaty stallions. No, not probably, she definitely could. But she had to admit that despite the cold, the Basin held some pretty attractive stallions. None of them were very fun or flirty however, which perhaps was both good and bad. Though there was Rhodoc, now, at the very least. And he was basically fantastic. And if she had her say in recruiting, there’d be plenty more fun and fantastic horses joining the Basin just as soon as she could find them. And Mortuus, with his willingness to teach her about drugs and poisons.
Truthfully, she was well set on the boy front. Even if they were sometimes a little fuzzy, imagination was a great thing.
The voice of an unfamiliar woman cuts across the Basin. Weaver is in the air in raven form, her and Raven swirling about in a fanciful version of patrol. She still avoids flying with her own wings around the Basin, knowing it’s not the best idea, but surely the residents of the Basin can’t have anything against a bird. The pair make their way over to the entrance of the Basin, spotting a group of visitors on their doorstep. There’s not much Weaver can offer in terms of conversation, really, but in case they are not so peaceful, she figures she should be around.
She loves the Sentinels, by the way. They are fucking great. And they will be so much better when they work. But she doesn’t intend to tell anyone that doesn’t already know that they are actual useless.
She lands some distance away, though perhaps still close enough they can see her shift back from Raven to horse. When she approaches, she is her usual self though. Black and white with the horse-sized raven wings on her back, the tiara of horns adorning her head. Always a princess, even if only in her own head now. “Welcome to the Basin, I’m Weaver. What can we do for you?” she says, voice smoky as it always is, but her smile is pleasant enough. She knows better than to treat important-looking visitors like crap.
Truthfully, she was well set on the boy front. Even if they were sometimes a little fuzzy, imagination was a great thing.
The voice of an unfamiliar woman cuts across the Basin. Weaver is in the air in raven form, her and Raven swirling about in a fanciful version of patrol. She still avoids flying with her own wings around the Basin, knowing it’s not the best idea, but surely the residents of the Basin can’t have anything against a bird. The pair make their way over to the entrance of the Basin, spotting a group of visitors on their doorstep. There’s not much Weaver can offer in terms of conversation, really, but in case they are not so peaceful, she figures she should be around.
She loves the Sentinels, by the way. They are fucking great. And they will be so much better when they work. But she doesn’t intend to tell anyone that doesn’t already know that they are actual useless.
She lands some distance away, though perhaps still close enough they can see her shift back from Raven to horse. When she approaches, she is her usual self though. Black and white with the horse-sized raven wings on her back, the tiara of horns adorning her head. Always a princess, even if only in her own head now. “Welcome to the Basin, I’m Weaver. What can we do for you?” she says, voice smoky as it always is, but her smile is pleasant enough. She knows better than to treat important-looking visitors like crap.
I'm the whole fucking fire.
- weaver -
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Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death
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