DEIMOS
Deimos had been a bulwark many times throughout his lives. It wasn’t an easy occupation; to be a solid and stoic rampart, a steeled fortification, while the rest of the world slammed against parapets and palisades and barricades. He didn’t ask them to stay and he didn’t beg for them to go, tethered and anchored firmly in the middle so they could remain close in his stead and protection, or fling outwards, seeking other shelter and sanctity despite the offers maintained and pledged, knowing he was still out there, somewhere, usually in a wake of snow and ice; swords drawn and shields up. So he would do the same for Ru now; a fierce and powerful thing when she required it, and capable of watching as she flickered away again.
He'd already heard about the Hak Etme efforts, courtesy of Colt, and he had to half-wonder if she was drawn to the sands because of distraction, necessity, or the mere notion of another Dragon’s Throat potential in the midst. Something to sink her teeth into and gnaw on in the interim of time and choices, something to be made out of the shambles. He’d done much the same on many other occasions; couldn’t fault her for the attempts. When one’s mind was occupied by work instead of other thoughts and drawn-out filaments, it seemed to ease the pain. “Colt told me about her upcoming attempts. She might appreciate someone with experience,” he rumbled, intonations meant to be light and humorous, rather than dragging and heavy.
With the Frey semblances though, he furrowed his brows, wondering if it was crossing a line or too much or simply acknowledging broken embittered things. He understood the notions of amends, given how little it’d been extended in the past (as arson and stabbings didn’t quite qualify), but worried the lack of free will on one side might make the situation that much worse. “Would it be better if it was his choice to fix it?” he murmured; uncertain if that was the right aspect or not. “Have you asked him?” Or was that something they were no longer going to tread over?
He'd already heard about the Hak Etme efforts, courtesy of Colt, and he had to half-wonder if she was drawn to the sands because of distraction, necessity, or the mere notion of another Dragon’s Throat potential in the midst. Something to sink her teeth into and gnaw on in the interim of time and choices, something to be made out of the shambles. He’d done much the same on many other occasions; couldn’t fault her for the attempts. When one’s mind was occupied by work instead of other thoughts and drawn-out filaments, it seemed to ease the pain. “Colt told me about her upcoming attempts. She might appreciate someone with experience,” he rumbled, intonations meant to be light and humorous, rather than dragging and heavy.
With the Frey semblances though, he furrowed his brows, wondering if it was crossing a line or too much or simply acknowledging broken embittered things. He understood the notions of amends, given how little it’d been extended in the past (as arson and stabbings didn’t quite qualify), but worried the lack of free will on one side might make the situation that much worse. “Would it be better if it was his choice to fix it?” he murmured; uncertain if that was the right aspect or not. “Have you asked him?” Or was that something they were no longer going to tread over?
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
