[ Most of the women he knows like to pretend they aren't dangerous, as if that'll make him forget. He always found that dishonesty grating, sometimes patronizing. He isn't sure this is an improvement.
While she's got her trusty sticks, he has a strange, black spear. He carries it whenever it isn't too conspicuous to get away with it, and a dead city's fair game. Mat sets the end of it against the ground, leaning some of his weight on it in an effort to look nonchalant — and like that glimpse into her head isn't horrifying, which it sort of is. ]
I'll pass on that.
[ It reminds him a bit of Rand, though the bright, winding colors that go along with thoughts of his friend are more disorienting than violent. This is both, and his eyes narrow in thought as he watches her, expression turning critical. ]
Are you mad?
[ .... angry, he means, because that's what it feels like. Once he's said it, he realizes that either meaning applies just as well. She doesn't feel particularly stable, either. ]
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While she's got her trusty sticks, he has a strange, black spear. He carries it whenever it isn't too conspicuous to get away with it, and a dead city's fair game. Mat sets the end of it against the ground, leaning some of his weight on it in an effort to look nonchalant — and like that glimpse into her head isn't horrifying, which it sort of is. ]
I'll pass on that.
[ It reminds him a bit of Rand, though the bright, winding colors that go along with thoughts of his friend are more disorienting than violent. This is both, and his eyes narrow in thought as he watches her, expression turning critical. ]
Are you mad?
[ .... angry, he means, because that's what it feels like. Once he's said it, he realizes that either meaning applies just as well. She doesn't feel particularly stable, either. ]