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!log/thread/narrative, the magicians: fen, the sandman: dream, → week 044 (westworld)

week 43 (westworld); day three

Day three, things had happened, exciting things, no doubt, but Fen hadn’t been overly involved in them. If anything, she was partially enjoying her time not being a werewolf but also not enjoying how easy it seemed to be to die from bandits here. Also not enjoying not having her knives on her. She was not a gun girl (she had, however, found a trade to conduct where she did get something sharp and pointy at least).

Has she gotten a chance to use it yet? Not quite. She’d been busy trying to pick up more items she could take back to the campus, particularly blacksmithing icons and her chest of belongings were probably brimming with items. She also had to pay for them which meant keeping a bit busy during her days.

When the chance finally came to get a bit of food, Fen took it and walked across Main Street toward the saloon she had decided had the best foods so far (lots of good meat, that was what she went for even with it not being close to the full moon). Once she spotted a familiar being on the same pathway with a very familiar bird on his shoulder, she sped up her pace, trying to at least get within vicinity of hearing distance so she didn’t surprise him.

Not that she had to worry about that because Matthew spotted her first, and she gave him a little wave.