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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Let’s be honest – their version of ‘girl talk’ is probably more like bro talk, and is best done while soaking away aches and pains, drinking, or trying alternative drugs. They aren’t going to start talking about romantic conquests or go painting each other’s horns any time soon. Pink would really clash with Wessex’s eyes anyway… and Rikyn would definitely have something snarky to say about being feminine so… that’s a hard pass on stereotypical girl talk and feminine bonding time.
Sorry, not sorry.
At least Weaver has the balls to say Wessex looks like one, because there’s really no other way to describe her, considering that none of them have seen a dinosaur. Her laugh becomes less biting and more genuine as the warrior feels her muscles slowly untying themselves, absorbing the soothing heat and good company. See, this is how nights and camaraderie should be. Wessex makes a face when Weaver reveals her opponent. Now that youngster has potential, and she’s surprised Weaver got away with as ‘little’ as she did. The wings probably help, she surmises, but then again she has no idea if they are cumbersome, or easily damaged, or just generally get in the way. “Ah. Yes, she’s built to pummel things… I should. Kind of said I’d take her under my care when she joined and then promptly did not do that.”
Oops. A sigh.
“You’re new too, right? Thoughts on the Basin thus far?” She takes another step towards the middle, submersing herself even more. Agony now would be relief later. And Wessex may or may be a bit of a masochist – you kind of have to be, to be soldier. It all hurts so good. The signs of actually doing shit with her life.
W E S S E X
@Weaver
@Oizys (if you want :) )
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
