[Even Gideon would have to admit he was a cute baby if she could see that.]
I mean, it's not one of my best, but even I have off days, you know? No swamp. Just bones, and creepy-ass catacombs, and monastic cells, and a shitty old library full of boring old books and dust that I'm technically banned from entering, but I sneaked in one time anyway only to find it wasn't a place I had any interest in frequenting, so there.
[What can you really learn from books that you can't learn from, you know, actually doing shit with your body anyway? Although she supposes she has to admit her stash of dirty mags have been very enlightening, on occasion.]
Yes to more wine, though. And it's kinda hard to tell it, it's more something you've gotta see. Obviously I'm a hot badass with a sword, and Harrow is the best damned necro the Ninth House has ever produced. She's all about scale and accuracy and amount of constructs, you know? Like, she can raise a whole army just from chips of bone. But together it's like...I dunno. I guess because we fought with and around each other our entire lives. Like I know what she's gonna try before she tries it, I know where her openings are gonna be, where to move without her having to say jack shit. I'd have laughed in your face if you'd said it to me even a year before now, but it's like we were meant to be necro and cav all along.
[There's an odd feeling in her chest when she says it, an unaccustomed tightness, something bright and hot and sharp. Because perhaps there was a time when she had genuinely hated Harrow, but even their rivalry had meant gaining her undivided attention. She clears her throat, shuffles one foot against the floorboards.]
So yeah. No turning into bats or anything. We just...fit together, I guess.
[And to cover for any embarrassment she feels in talking so honestly about this shit, she waggles her eyebrows lasciviously and makes jerk-off gestures with the hand not holding her glass.]
no subject
I mean, it's not one of my best, but even I have off days, you know? No swamp. Just bones, and creepy-ass catacombs, and monastic cells, and a shitty old library full of boring old books and dust that I'm technically banned from entering, but I sneaked in one time anyway only to find it wasn't a place I had any interest in frequenting, so there.
[What can you really learn from books that you can't learn from, you know, actually doing shit with your body anyway? Although she supposes she has to admit her stash of dirty mags have been very enlightening, on occasion.]
Yes to more wine, though. And it's kinda hard to tell it, it's more something you've gotta see. Obviously I'm a hot badass with a sword, and Harrow is the best damned necro the Ninth House has ever produced. She's all about scale and accuracy and amount of constructs, you know? Like, she can raise a whole army just from chips of bone. But together it's like...I dunno. I guess because we fought with and around each other our entire lives. Like I know what she's gonna try before she tries it, I know where her openings are gonna be, where to move without her having to say jack shit. I'd have laughed in your face if you'd said it to me even a year before now, but it's like we were meant to be necro and cav all along.
[There's an odd feeling in her chest when she says it, an unaccustomed tightness, something bright and hot and sharp. Because perhaps there was a time when she had genuinely hated Harrow, but even their rivalry had meant gaining her undivided attention. She clears her throat, shuffles one foot against the floorboards.]
So yeah. No turning into bats or anything. We just...fit together, I guess.
[And to cover for any embarrassment she feels in talking so honestly about this shit, she waggles her eyebrows lasciviously and makes jerk-off gestures with the hand not holding her glass.]