Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Deimos had, and could once more, offered a multitude of reasons why Ru deserved far, far better than what she’d been granted in life, with her choice to follow down a familiar brambled and thorned path. He didn’t care about the litany of apologies from the Flood’s bowed head or all the promises likely nestled in between, how others seemingly turned a blind eye, how the past was the past. There were too many parallels and barbed scars and moments sewn into his mind to ever forgive the fool for breaking the Valkyrie’s heart; even if she offered it to the idiot again. The Sword had never been a creature of absolution or exonerations, reprieves or leniency; his mercy would’ve been carved into death knells.
But his brow arched, away from the melded nuances beginning their vicious streak through his skull, at her murmur. He wouldn’t want to give the gods the credit – not when Hotaru had managed with her people, and not on the whims and caprice of a deity, but he kept his mouth shut. A practice in withholding was an art he did well, tucking and scoring it behind his teeth for no other purpose but to shake his head, and then keep them going through the sand.
There were some dusty, inky patches nearby, and he might’ve advanced upon them or studied far more closely, had she not persisted in some manner of praise and inquiry. It broke him out of his musing and subtle mulishness, into widened eyes and an indignant snort. “Maybe,” he gave with a wrinkled nose and juvenile tactic, marking into coy reserves simply to be irritating and vexing. The signs had all been there when she’d toured the house anyway; conversations had and noted. Turning it back upon her, he mirrored the incorrigible antics. “Will you?” The horrendous thought of Sunjata reproducing (again) met with an inward snarl and grimace.
But his brow arched, away from the melded nuances beginning their vicious streak through his skull, at her murmur. He wouldn’t want to give the gods the credit – not when Hotaru had managed with her people, and not on the whims and caprice of a deity, but he kept his mouth shut. A practice in withholding was an art he did well, tucking and scoring it behind his teeth for no other purpose but to shake his head, and then keep them going through the sand.
There were some dusty, inky patches nearby, and he might’ve advanced upon them or studied far more closely, had she not persisted in some manner of praise and inquiry. It broke him out of his musing and subtle mulishness, into widened eyes and an indignant snort. “Maybe,” he gave with a wrinkled nose and juvenile tactic, marking into coy reserves simply to be irritating and vexing. The signs had all been there when she’d toured the house anyway; conversations had and noted. Turning it back upon her, he mirrored the incorrigible antics. “Will you?” The horrendous thought of Sunjata reproducing (again) met with an inward snarl and grimace.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
