tell the wolves I'm home
Oh, Deimos had certainly pouted upon hearing the initial news – he’d had enough time to recover to relay the rest of the announcement, and subsequent decision, to the Evergreen. The entire way home had been one unrelenting stormcloud of petulance, irritation, and scowling – now it was simply analytical wandering and meandering through the muck and mire of his emotions. So he snorted at Evie’s initial reaction, because there’d been some portions of that mixed within previous years and relationships that he didn’t understand, nor quite frankly, wanted to know about.
Intertwining their fingers, and pretending to casually inspect hers as a way to listen and maul through the bridges, gaps, and vexations, he sighed. Maybe it was his discomfort playing through everything else – the likely probability of him being the outsider, lurking on the periphery, the harsh outline and juxtaposition of being shoved to the side, and the never-ending, seething hatred of the Flood. “I am certain she will expect something else,” he said with a light grin, thinking of the Valkyrie and her avarice, but with an air of fondness hidden behind another long and weary breath.
Perhaps he’d been hoping Evie would simply say no, and he could’ve been done with the whole thing. “My suffering would likely amuse her.” Which, in other circumstances, would probably be a mutual thing. But he also hadn’t ever given her a reason to feel unwanted or useless in situations. “I think I fear we have lost connections…or something,” he couldn’t quite articulate the meaning, and he huffed. “I know that is probably not true, but…,” it sat in his chest regardless. So his grin became half-tucked in the corner of his mouth, waiting to hear any other revelations before making a decision.
Intertwining their fingers, and pretending to casually inspect hers as a way to listen and maul through the bridges, gaps, and vexations, he sighed. Maybe it was his discomfort playing through everything else – the likely probability of him being the outsider, lurking on the periphery, the harsh outline and juxtaposition of being shoved to the side, and the never-ending, seething hatred of the Flood. “I am certain she will expect something else,” he said with a light grin, thinking of the Valkyrie and her avarice, but with an air of fondness hidden behind another long and weary breath.
Perhaps he’d been hoping Evie would simply say no, and he could’ve been done with the whole thing. “My suffering would likely amuse her.” Which, in other circumstances, would probably be a mutual thing. But he also hadn’t ever given her a reason to feel unwanted or useless in situations. “I think I fear we have lost connections…or something,” he couldn’t quite articulate the meaning, and he huffed. “I know that is probably not true, but…,” it sat in his chest regardless. So his grin became half-tucked in the corner of his mouth, waiting to hear any other revelations before making a decision.
the ressurected sword
