// object of desire //
Nodding, the courtesan takes a slow and deep inhale, a tattooed hand lifting to brush the back of his arm against his forehead to wipe away any sweat before it can get into his eyes and sting that way. Resettling himself, he takes Deimos’ words to heart, embracing the focus once more until the wind suddenly becomes a shield that seems to coat most portions of his body, though it isn’t something traditional. It isn’t like the one he’d held above his head.
This time, when Deimos’ shards of wood aim for his knees and shins, they’ll make it most of the way until about a few inches away from his skin, in which the moving wind would cause it to stutter and twist, like its getting picked up in a tiny little tornado and avoids his skin entirely. “Like this?” He asks through a gasping breath, panting as he focuses hard.
This time, when Deimos’ shards of wood aim for his knees and shins, they’ll make it most of the way until about a few inches away from his skin, in which the moving wind would cause it to stutter and twist, like its getting picked up in a tiny little tornado and avoids his skin entirely. “Like this?” He asks through a gasping breath, panting as he focuses hard.
THORN
