Damien
"I never see you at the club!"
Okay? I never see you at the creek
Okay? I never see you at the creek
Damien tipped his head back to watch the last of Deimos’s climb, jaw tightening faintly at the ease of it. The Warden made scaling a wall of ice look like nothing more than taking the stairs. A man could either be discouraged by that or challenged; Damien found himself leaning toward the latter, though he hid it under the usual gravel.
“Armor, huh.” His mouth tugged crooked, somewhere between a grimace and a grin.
Aria chirped, circling his boots, and he stooped long enough to brush her aside with a hand. She gave an indignant chirp and toddled off, keeping out of trouble for now. Damien shrugged out of his coat, rolling his shoulders against the cold, then crossed to the rack for a harness. The leather was stiff, but he buckled it without much fuss, checking the straps with steady, workmanlike motions.
“Don’t expect much of a show,” he called up, dry but without apology. “I’m not here to impress anyone.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward as he looked up at Deimos again. “But if you need something beaten on, I can manage that well enough.”
Damien’s breath fogged in the cold as he gave the first hold a testing pull. Solid enough. He set his boots, leaned his weight forward, and began the climb. No sudden bursts, no fancy tricks, just the same steady rhythm he’d used a hundred times hauling firewood up ridges or game over uneven ground. Hand, foot, hand, foot, until the wall gave him no choice but to trust the next hold and keep moving.
The muscles in his shoulders and back burned quick enough, but he ground through it, jaw set. Aria’s faint chirrups followed him up from below, sharp little encouragements or heckling—it was hard to tell. By the time he hauled himself over the lip, he was breathing heavier than he’d like, but on his feet all the same.
He gave Deimos a look that carried a hint of wry amusement through the breathlessness. “Well. I made it.” A pause, a short huff of a laugh. He noticed the armor Deimos wore, the details clearer now at close range. The weight of it looked like more than most men could stand for long, but the Warden carried it as easily as a second skin. Damien found his eyes tracing the plates and fittings, curiosity stirring despite himself. “What'd you have in mind, then?”
“Armor, huh.” His mouth tugged crooked, somewhere between a grimace and a grin.
Aria chirped, circling his boots, and he stooped long enough to brush her aside with a hand. She gave an indignant chirp and toddled off, keeping out of trouble for now. Damien shrugged out of his coat, rolling his shoulders against the cold, then crossed to the rack for a harness. The leather was stiff, but he buckled it without much fuss, checking the straps with steady, workmanlike motions.
“Don’t expect much of a show,” he called up, dry but without apology. “I’m not here to impress anyone.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward as he looked up at Deimos again. “But if you need something beaten on, I can manage that well enough.”
Damien’s breath fogged in the cold as he gave the first hold a testing pull. Solid enough. He set his boots, leaned his weight forward, and began the climb. No sudden bursts, no fancy tricks, just the same steady rhythm he’d used a hundred times hauling firewood up ridges or game over uneven ground. Hand, foot, hand, foot, until the wall gave him no choice but to trust the next hold and keep moving.
The muscles in his shoulders and back burned quick enough, but he ground through it, jaw set. Aria’s faint chirrups followed him up from below, sharp little encouragements or heckling—it was hard to tell. By the time he hauled himself over the lip, he was breathing heavier than he’d like, but on his feet all the same.
He gave Deimos a look that carried a hint of wry amusement through the breathlessness. “Well. I made it.” A pause, a short huff of a laugh. He noticed the armor Deimos wore, the details clearer now at close range. The weight of it looked like more than most men could stand for long, but the Warden carried it as easily as a second skin. Damien found his eyes tracing the plates and fittings, curiosity stirring despite himself. “What'd you have in mind, then?”
