ask no questions

The thought works in reverse too. He is everything she is not. He is, perhaps, a demon. But he is one that seems to care enough for others to heal them. To learn about herbs and pass that knowledge on in an effort to actually aid others. Weaver doesn’t fight because she can use her skills to protect others. Sure, she does protect when the need arises, but simply because to fight is in her nature. She fights because she loves it, because she wants to be strong and powerful and so much more than she is now. She does not care enough to heal others, to worry what he words might do (usually, anyway, though that is changing here). She does not care about much, really, except the things that suit her.

Sure, she is the daughter of a Queen. Sure, she holds herself like a princess should. But she has few advantages, and her beauty is something to be wielded like a weapon. She knows how to use it just as well as he knows how to kick and bite. Though she doesn’t wield it now, though she knows no other way to move, no other way to be. But her armor and her weapons are herself, ands he cannot shed that.

“There are definitely such things as stupid questions,” she replies with that Cheshire grin. There are totally stupid questions in the world, lots of them. Including the one she just asked. But then again, what exactly do you say when you spy someone bleeding profusely and seeming entirely unconcerned about it? It’s not like you can just ignore it. Or maybe you can ignore it, but she’s not that type. “I do imagine it can’t storm forever, at least.”

His eyes turn to a cave where flames flicker, lightening blotting out the sight of the cave momentarily. It’s a hell of a storm. She doesn’t concern herself with it. Dying by lightning would at least be an experience, but when he ask if she’ll go home with him, she can’t help but grin wider. “But we hardly know each other Mortuus. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

She laughs, thunder drowning out the sound. But she’s already following him, heading to the cave. When they get there, she’s glad for the break from the pounding rain. Raven is a sulky, huddled mass on her back. He has never been a fan of the rain, and though he’d been restless, he’d quickly realized that being soaked was even less fun. He shakes the water from him onto Weaver instead, and then hops down from her back and glides toward the fire to try and dry himself, staying just far enough away to avoid getting himself burnt instead.

“So…what’s up with the bleeding then?” She has no way with words. She is blunt and to the point, and since he say’s he’s fine, she’s moved on to curious. He bleeds like a corpse, and she wonders if he’s like her. She wonders if he traverses the worlds like she does, or if he simply can’t die at all. But maybe it’s none of those things, maybe it’s something she’d never even think of.

- weaver -

and you'll be told no lies