DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He quietly refilled the canteen, the water formed within the container, before placing it back in his bag, eyes instinctually flickering towards the encroaching water again. He knew she was correct – his efforts would be miniscule in comparison to the sheer size and scale of the newly forged reservoir, but the notions had been calculated into something. The incessant need and drive to try, to strive, to attempt, to endeavor, ran far too often within his ichor, a side effect of unending calculations.
She had a joke embedded in there, but he sighed, then snorted, pulsing away some of the liquid contorting its way along the Citadel shoreline. “Would I?” Probably – but it was rhetorical in his own tired statements and sentiments, watching as the droplets cascaded into nothing, sent back to the air; minimal and minute.
To hear she also hadn’t snagged at much sleep, when she was the far more conscientious of the pair, made him tilt his head. They were both likely going to rampage onward until exhaustion ensured they had no choice in the matter, and he didn’t feel very much like passing out amidst the Citadel constituents. He snuck a little smile at the mental image though – Evie stuck in a corner somewhere within the infirmary, coiled away amidst the hustle and bustle.
His brows furrowed though at the suggestion of laying outside the walls, amongst the lush, formed greenery, a verdant tapestry of woven textures. His initial reaction was to balk, which she’d already herded through with the next statement, enough so that his nose wrinkled in childish and juvenile formation. Truth be told, he was already at the point where if he stopped and ceased movement altogether he feared he’d simply drop, but admitting that wasn’t on his agenda. The Sword glanced back and forth, from Evergreen to ferns and growth, the stubbornness, and likely residual apprehension, thwarting foolishly, briefly thorned. “And what if something happens?”
She had a joke embedded in there, but he sighed, then snorted, pulsing away some of the liquid contorting its way along the Citadel shoreline. “Would I?” Probably – but it was rhetorical in his own tired statements and sentiments, watching as the droplets cascaded into nothing, sent back to the air; minimal and minute.
To hear she also hadn’t snagged at much sleep, when she was the far more conscientious of the pair, made him tilt his head. They were both likely going to rampage onward until exhaustion ensured they had no choice in the matter, and he didn’t feel very much like passing out amidst the Citadel constituents. He snuck a little smile at the mental image though – Evie stuck in a corner somewhere within the infirmary, coiled away amidst the hustle and bustle.
His brows furrowed though at the suggestion of laying outside the walls, amongst the lush, formed greenery, a verdant tapestry of woven textures. His initial reaction was to balk, which she’d already herded through with the next statement, enough so that his nose wrinkled in childish and juvenile formation. Truth be told, he was already at the point where if he stopped and ceased movement altogether he feared he’d simply drop, but admitting that wasn’t on his agenda. The Sword glanced back and forth, from Evergreen to ferns and growth, the stubbornness, and likely residual apprehension, thwarting foolishly, briefly thorned. “And what if something happens?”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
