walking the path so many paced a million times

Deimos

His expression might’ve altered at least five times in the series of words uttered by the older man – from widened eyes, narrowed, furrowed brows, reeling confusion, a vague tilt of his head, and summarized only by a vague sigh at the finality of it all. He had warned him in both measures, but it seemed Darkeye's directness, ability to cause confrontation, and emboldened, at times audacious, endeavors had sunk the proclamations in deeper. Zuriel gave a haughty glance his way, in a slight ‘I told you so’ demeanor, to which the Sword could only shrug. “Hunting,” he murmured, answering the first inquiry, holding up the collection of swamp rats for Halo. And given his elements, his shifts, he didn’t particularly mind the fiery blaze of the Climb.

Mentions of being magnetic had him almost laughing; muffling it very quietly in his chest. Glancing down at the tools along his belt, the variety of armor and weaponry at his disposal, he didn’t step closer. Instead, he snorted, and crouched, bending slightly to create a wooden stool for his friend, and sliding it over so that he may sit down on something not metallic or…whatever these fixtures were made of.

Then, back to the subject at hand. “She cursed you.” A statement uttered perhaps to bring his mind back into gear, focused, honed. “Why?” For all Deimos had known, Darkeye had been trying to remain neutral.

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight