intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Greetings received, and the stoic man became all the more reticent and reserved, stepping in through the threshold, eyes flickering as a predator might, quick inspections and scrutinies on the books, on things he might’ve learned or curiously dug through, had he not been here for something else entirely. His mind too sharpened by every other edge, the shop’s interior faded from his machinations. “Samuel,” he indicated with a nod, stiff and unyielding, Zuriel following through (a judgmental snort loudly ricocheting along the walls as she inhaled some dust, then glanced to the Ascended with disdain). His darting stare from the unicorn, with a shake of his head, returned to Amalia’s brother, not even certain how or where to start this particular conversation. “I came to see you, actually.” He placed himself somewhere along the doorframe, to watch, to witness, reactions to the inevitable. “I went to Safrin about creating a door to keep the monsters at bay during LongNight.” The General wasn’t sure how just those words would go over – how infused, embedded, or indebted Samuel was to the Voice; if it was mere heresy to make mentions of others. “She said we could try, if an Ascended was willing to give up an upgrade, and half of their fluid.” He waited for a semblance of movement, of motion, expecting rage, bewilderment, surprise, or some other mix, an in between gesture that he and the goddess might’ve had a massive amount of audacity. It was, in some part, a ridiculous, emboldened proposition, but Deimos had never been one to not try, or back away from a challenge. “Would you be interested?” Not the greatest or grandest of premises, but the notions, the information, was all there. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace