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November 3, 2011

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Weaversplice Murusa

(Temple of Primus, Crystal City)

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Murusa enters the Temple and does her usual routine of dipping her fingers in the blessed oil and doing a half curtsy toward the front of the the room as she genuflects. Once done she straightens up and moves as quietly as she can to a pew. A old prayer medallion is taken out of her subspace, well worn from use.

The sound of muttering can be heard at a distance, the source seeming to travel. Finally a pair of mechs walk in, lowering their voices to a hushed whisper. After a few more exchanges, one of them leaves, and the other, adorned in his fiber-optic cape, walks quietly to an empty pew. He sits down, lowering his head and dimming his green optics.

Murusa bends her head and brings the medallion up close to her lips, beginning her daily devotional prayer first. She speaks it in a older Cybertronian dialect as that certainly dates the elderly femme. If she noticed the presence of the antique dealer she doesn't seem to indicate it.

After a moment of silence, the antique dealer raises his head and glances about as the word the an older dialect reaches him. He cannot help but to glance over at Murusa, but quickly looks forward at the back of the pew in front of him, just quietly listening for now.

Murusa finishes the prayer and looks up toward the front of the room. Fingers idly stroking over the surface of the medallion.

Weaversplice's lips move as if speaking, but no sound comes from him. After a moment of this, he stands up and goes to quietly leave, only to have his cape snag on the corner of a pew, causing him to gracelessly trip and fall forward, making a loud clatter.

Murusa turns toward the fallen mech, then gets up out of her pew to approach and assist him. The femme offering a hand to him as she murmurs, "Good cycle, Weaversplice."

There is a muttered oath under the mech's breath moments before he looks up to Murusa, a somewhat sheepish grin coming across his angular features. He takes Murusa's hand and pulls himself back to his feet. 'Good cycle, Murusa. I can not express how sorry I am for having made such a disruption in such a sacred place. Please accept my most humble apologies."

Murusa's hand remains before the mech to assist him in rising. "Accidents happen." she assures him softly.

Weaversplice inclines his head and responds, "You are most understanding!" as he reaches back and straightens out his cape. He then looks at her levelly, "And quite the traditionalist, I dare say."

Murusa smiles a little to those words, "Old habits are hard to break and I see no reason to change the routine when it comes to my time here." she intones lowly.

Weaversplice smiles, brushing a bit of dust off from his forearms, and then relaxes somewhat, having finally recovered his composure. "I value traditionalism and the old ways. Why else do you think I peddle antiques? It isn't just about the money."

Murusa inclines her head slightly to him, "The old ways were not always the best ways, but it is good to know that the things of the past are not totally forgotten." she states, pausing a moment before asking, "How is business?"

Weaversplice smirks, and whatever it is that he thinks of the old ways, or her comment thereof, goes untouched. He instead prefers to respond to the latter question. "Even I know not to talk shop in a sacred place. But if you would like to chat, we can go somewhere much more appropriate for that."

Murusa smiles to that, "Perhaps later? I wish to finish my prayers while I am here."

Weaversplice nods. "Of course. Of course. I can be found easily either at the shop or advertising downtown. It's been a pleasure. Go with Primus." With that, Weaversplice leaves.

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