I will still be here, stargazing
Admittedly, a cannon that doesn’t bludgeon at all isn’t a worthwhile tool for a demigod, but he likes the idea of confetti, and bean bags just the same, allowing it suit the wide range of her moods, from bludgeoning to celebrating. ”A bludgeoning scale,” he offers for clarification, briefly demonstrating with a hand the range of death and dismemberment she could select, as if the rising and falling scale were a fish he were measuring.
Grimacing at the notion of being choked to death, as if visualizing the cold hands against his own throat now, Iskra shifts in his seat and swallows his bite. ”Nasty things,” he finishes on comment about banshees. No personal encounters to speak of, but he’s heard enough to be content with leaving it that way longer still. ”Oh, some daemons around here, actually. And some cockatrices too. Some lightning, some fire, a bit of earth and ice, and they’re all dead now.”
Still partial to his Ludo board shorts he’d picked up in Torchline with Mel, he can’t say he’s surprised to find there’s underwear lines out there. ”You?” he wonders, eyebrows lifting with the question as he leaves Sunjata to recover on his own and considers Mel over the edge of his drink. The rough start of a grin is forming, as if considering perhaps he should be adorning himself in more Mel faceted styles of clothing, if only to flaunt them in front of her for her full horrific benefit. The possibility remains, but his focus swivels back towards Sunjata, head tilting as he sips at his drink.
Iskra has never really considered the loss of demigodhood, not giving demigods too much mind as an Abandoned, beyond learning all the trials and tribulations thathave come with accepting it for Mel. The boons it grants, but the struggles too. ”Did he retire?” Iskra wonders, knowing the man and finding him plenty fit enough to keep going, but he also knows the appeal of settling back into the cabin in the woods and finding peace.
Grimacing at the notion of being choked to death, as if visualizing the cold hands against his own throat now, Iskra shifts in his seat and swallows his bite. ”Nasty things,” he finishes on comment about banshees. No personal encounters to speak of, but he’s heard enough to be content with leaving it that way longer still. ”Oh, some daemons around here, actually. And some cockatrices too. Some lightning, some fire, a bit of earth and ice, and they’re all dead now.”
Still partial to his Ludo board shorts he’d picked up in Torchline with Mel, he can’t say he’s surprised to find there’s underwear lines out there. ”You?” he wonders, eyebrows lifting with the question as he leaves Sunjata to recover on his own and considers Mel over the edge of his drink. The rough start of a grin is forming, as if considering perhaps he should be adorning himself in more Mel faceted styles of clothing, if only to flaunt them in front of her for her full horrific benefit. The possibility remains, but his focus swivels back towards Sunjata, head tilting as he sips at his drink.
Iskra has never really considered the loss of demigodhood, not giving demigods too much mind as an Abandoned, beyond learning all the trials and tribulations thathave come with accepting it for Mel. The boons it grants, but the struggles too. ”Did he retire?” Iskra wonders, knowing the man and finding him plenty fit enough to keep going, but he also knows the appeal of settling back into the cabin in the woods and finding peace.
Iskra
