nexus_sages | A Chill in the Air

The Nexus may have seen a glittering and glorious ball the night before, but every party must end. Every overindulgence has its morning-after regrets. The pains of burning eyes and revolting stomachs have visited more than a few people like malevolent fairies. And then the lucky denizens of the Nexus get another treat.

Cailleach may well be the grumpiest looking grumpy old lady ever. If she'd been sucking on lemons for a thousand years she could not look more sour. White hair fragile with age is hidden beneath a scarf and within the hood of her raincoat. Her glasses are old-fashioned, her makeup is out of style, and her shoes are sensible. Do not ask her for candy. She is not your granny.

What is is watching the goings-on with increasing vexation. Something about everyone passing by seems to set her to an ever-increasing amount of angry muttering. Finally, she can't contain it anymore. "Why don't young people prepare for the lean times coming? Do you all think it'll be sunshine and flowers forever?"

It doesn't matter who answers. She's grumpy and demands an audience.

((She's going to be 100% mean to just about everyone, be warned. #sorrynotsorry))

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*She's not entirely certain what she's hoping for--this woman is like an Elder of her people, and yet decidedly unlike. Perhaps she only grasps for the familiar. This woman is proving past first blush, though, to be decidedly unfamiliar, and the Hunter's brow furrows.*

Is that all you do? Sit quietly and wait for other people to die?

"Mm." Cailleach should be more than a little familiar to the Hunter, if not in comforting ways. "I wouldn't say 'wait', no."

*Ah. That's why she feels familiar.*

Who gets your attention?

Even in the depths of her greatest hubris, Samus never thought she was alone or special in that talent, did she? Efficient, perhaps. Cailleach would grant her that measure of regard.

"Eh. Those who deserve it, sometimes. Sometimes those who don't. Some would simply call them 'the unlucky'."

*It's more that, even after this long in the Nexus, she hasn't often met someone who was a greater avatar of ruin than herself who didn't ignorantly advertise the fact to all and sundry as obviously as they were able. The answer pulls down at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as she gives the woman another looking over, measuring more carefully in light of what's been said and trying to make sense of it. She settles on the idea that this woman is probably some sort of personified force of nature.*

Favorite method?

True professionals don't need to flash cred. The new scrutiny makes the old woman smirk, which is not a friendly or inviting sort of expression.

"Cold. Deprivation. Claws and teeth, when I want it done fast."

Small mercy.

*This no longer seems like a day for friendly or inviting expressions.*

Is that generosity, or just impatience?

"Any mercy's better than none." Small, bitter--those are her specialty.

The question makes her stop to think over the answer she wants to give. "Some of each. Mostly the latter."

There are mercies I could do without.

*It's a risky gambit, fencing phrases like that with an unknown of Cailleach's stated nature. Risk is familiar territory for the Hunter, and her risks are calculated--sometimes it's enough to impress with bravado, although that hardly seems like this one's favorite flavor.*

Can't stand to wait, hmm? What do you get out of it?

Cailleach will reward that bit of wisdom by not picking at that conversational thread any longer. For now, at least. Anything that sets a person in an adversarial role against her is not the best place to be, but everyone alive is her adversary eventually. Maybe it's best to simply grin and bear it.

"Should I toy with them more? Prolong the suffering and misery, refuse to let the plants grow?" There's a feral smile growing, punctuated by the afterthought, "It could get colder."

*Samus doesn't rise to the question about toying with people more. She can recognize bait when she sees it. Instead, she seizes on that last remark, and counters with something that might be very ill-considered in hindsight.*

There's only so cold it can get. And when things get cold enough, they get interesting.

*Dammit, Samus, don't goad the winter quasi-goddess into chilling things down to absolute zero just on the off chance that you can shoot her with a suddenly-superconducting chunk of the landscape or something.*

A Chill in the Air

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