Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26414442-20150506015955/@comment-26414442-20150515114626

Well... that was sudden.

So the Weaver girl had tossed a USB drive at the snarky American who seemed to have a feud of sorts with her, then left, as if she hadn't been there at all. Airmid looked around nervously, in confusion. Trishia seemed to have connections everywhere, just as how a spider was connected to every edge of the web.

Reading people's body language and prompting oneself on how they spoke was something that was never innate in Airmid. Instead, it was something that she had to teach to herself. However the Weaver was entirely unreadable. That was frightening. Airmid wasn't sure if she wanted to trust the girl or not – and she didn't even think she could trust someone that she shadily traded potentially-illegal things with.

Nevertheless, she had to have a motive, right? Something that would prompt Miss Weaving into "helping" them. Airmid assumed that she (Trishia) would be the kind of person who bothered to cover their social media tracks, so her typical solution – stalking people's Pagebooks, Princestagrams and Twitters might not work as well.

Then, Jane Hook spoke, a bit more quietly that Airmid would have hexpected.

"Spill," Airmid said, regarding Jane's mention of a problem. "Let's get any potential dilemna over and sorted."

--

While the more energetic members of Dead Epics were busy fussing over some seamstress, a camera and throwing insults about Grimm, Icarus turned to Sammy. "You can leave whenever," he said. "Apparently doing whatever the spell you like is the most important thing in this support group, and that included leaving, who knew?"