There are some places that are easy to recognize from memory. When the memory of a place is filled with all sorts of pain and physical changes, even more so. Weaver finds himself on the ground again. A familiar ground. Ground he probaly never wanted to be on again. Leaning over him from her market stall is a familiar face, Maiden. One of The Three. The stall is still dark and creepy, lit only by candles strung up in skulls that are scattered across old blankets draped up for privacy. The woman's triple voice is amused, as dark now as it was when he traded away his kiths not so long ago. "Our deal is concluded," the voices say in unison.
Weaver himself? Well, he's not as hurt as the last time he woke up on the ground outside of Maiden's stall. But the second he tries to get up to his feet, a pain juts through his shoulder. An old wound, already wrapped and taken care of. It feels older, not like a fresh wound. But the last thing he remembers was... getting Olivia out of the house.
Weaver's slow to get up. He sits up first, groggy and not too clear what's happened. He checks his jaw with a few shakes, and as if waking up from some fresh nightmare reaches for his back to grab at his wings. Those are still there, and he stands up to face the marketeer. "What did you do?" he asks with a sneer. He reaches for his shoulder, wincing for a beat as a growl rumbles at the back of his throat. "How did I end up here in the first place?" He looks around for a few moments, and then lets his gaze fall back on her. "I don't remember getting high last..."
Maiden watches as he rises, the half mask that covers her face tilting to the side. The antlers are held between them almost threateningly as he sneers in her direction. That dark smile never once leaves the woman's lips as she watches him, spreading her hands. "It is not what I have done. It is what you have done. We can make no deal without your agreement after all. Isn't that right?" That triple voice rings in amusement, voice almost cackling. "This," she explains. "This is what you wanted."
He was getting right pissed, and his mantle betrayed whatever his face did not. Weaver does eventually concede the point without a word. She may be a lot of things to him, but she hasn't lied. "Okay, what was it I wanted. Because I don't remember and," he grabs at his shoulder. Likely checking it wasn't a dream, and the pain that burns tells him otehrwise. "So what the fuck did I agree to? I enjoy pain from time to time, but I've never just said to cut at me because what the fuck. "
"I did nothing to you that you didn't ask me to," Maiden says with another almost cackle. She holds an orb in her hands, filled with an angry swirl of red and black. It's tucked into a box and sealed shut before being set on a shelf nearby. "I also did not hard you this time. You came to me injured." She straightens into a stand, unrelenting in his wave of growing anger. "What you've lost is my gain, given willingly. Our deal is concluded," she repeats. "You should go before you scare away any of my customers. Perhaps someone else can help you find what you're looking for. But I doubt it." Her eyes slide to the box and then back to him.
Weaver's growling returns, but he hasn't lost enough sense to forget where he is. This is the market. He does compose himself while his Mantle plays out his anger for any to see. Straightening back up as he straightens out the hem of his shirt, he bows his head briefly, and as kindly as ever says, "I thank you for your service." He departs, gaze going this way and that as he gets out from behind the curtain.
"Smart dragon," Maiden offers as she watches Weaver regain control of his anger and start to turn back down that long walk back towards the main market. She makes no effort to stop him, going back about her work, organizing her belonging. As he walks, he begins to realize how sore and stiff his body is, not to mention the wave of tiredness that's come down upon him. It's like he's been awake for atleast a couple of days. How many days has it been that he's forgotten?
Weaver grunts as he hears her voice behind him, and just continues on. He stops to move a bit out of sight, and reaches up to his head. The effort causes him to wince in pain, and then start checking over his body for bruises. "What in the fuck did I do?" he questions of no one save himself. "Think, think," he mutters, and he begins trying to retrace his steps to no avail.
As he starts to look over himself, he takes a look under the bandages. Not a cut, but a bullet wound, rather large and already starting to heal. Atleast a couple of days’ worth of healing to say the least. Which means it's been a couple of days since he got Olivia out of the house. Anything could have happened in that time. There doesn't seem to be any other wounds, but padding around in his pocket he finds a piece of paper with his own handwriting on it. "Don't go looking. You got what you wanted."
"What the fuck did I even do?" he asks of himself. Weaver lifts his arm again, peaking at that bandage. "Velvet's gonna kill me because I got shot again, or I already did something stupid and she's trying to kill me." He did see the warning, but Weaver is still Weaver. "Did I cheat on her?" he asks as he begins making his exit of the Market. "Maybe I lit one of her favorite dresses on fire? Wait. Did I dream about Dietrich being dead?"
Weaver is walking through the Market, heading back towards the exit as he mutters to himself, trying to figure out exactly what happened. There's no angry voicemails on his phone or a thousand missed messages, which means that even if he's lost his memory for the past few days, he has to have at least seen Velvet during it, because she's not wondering where he is. As he moves, a large woman pushes past him. Her tan skin is marked in strange swirling patterns, with small horns protruding throughout her hair and along her forehead. Her arm bumps right into his, hard. At about the same height as him, they lock eyes, her own narrowing slightly, searching.
Weaver checked his phone, breathing a small sigh of relief. An obvious response at the thought of angering a woman he can't hide from. Not that he'd want to, but the thoughts racing through his mind bring a welcome distraction. That isn't helped when he bumps in the woman currently staring at him. He stares back, no ill will seen in his visage. "Do I know you?" he asks absent-mindedly. "Rather, do you know me? Seen me around here last few days?"
The woman doesn't move, doesn't speak. She just stands there for a long few seconds of silence, staring at Weaver with her eyes in narrow slits. It would be unnerving if that sort of thing ever actually bothered him. She grunts, not answering his question as she starts moving again, walking and pushing his shoulder out of the way with her own as she does. It's either someone with a grudge or just a bitch. It's hard to say.
Weaver sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looks to the woman. "Look," he says when reaching for her arm. It's only when he makes the slightest bit of contact that he pulls back. "I just don't know what happened, and I'm trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. I gave up something or wanted to. I just don't know what. Maybe you can-" He sighs again, shoulders rising. "If you know anything I'd be willing to pay to get something of an idea."
The woman pauses, whipping back towards him as he touches her arm. "Touch me again and I'll rip your arms off," the woman growls in a low, bestial tone. The disdain on her face is clear, It's probably not just a case of someone being a bitch, that attitude is personal. "Keep your money. You already got what you wanted. Traitor." The woman won't be stopped again, shoving away from him and stomping off.
The threat doesn't faze Weaver over much. Those are fairly common for the outspoken dragon. The notion of him being a traitor does give him pause. His ire rises only for a beat as he immediately calms down. "My bad," he calls out after her, and stands there amid the crowd. He mutters, "I've either fucked up really bad or did a really good thing." He turns to the gate, still standing there as he's found himself Lost once more
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