i fell in love with a war
The little baby's wave is mesmerizing in its adorableness and Icarus feels his heart melting further, slowly defrosted in the humid, hot air of the greenhouse. He floats another little wave at her, watching the way her eyes move from new thing to new thing, though ultimately, the flowers in his father's hand seem to capture her attention most. Icarus can't blame her; if he were a baby in a cold, cruel place like this, he'd be captivated by any delicate beauty too.
His hands float from the flower he's touching to another one, this new one green and a little furry under his fingertips. "I've never made a flower crown before," His voice floats, distant and thinking, not quite catching the invitation laden in Deimos' voice. It does interest him in an academic, distant way. How would one make a flower crown? It seems like an odd, unknowable kind of magic, stranger and farther out of his grasp than the water magic that comes so easily to him, so at-odds with the cold landscape of Halo that even in this sacred place of warmth and greenery he can't fathom its existence.
The baby's name brings another true, childlike smile to his face, and his fingers flicker in another gentle wave. "Hi, Idalia," he greets, throwing her a half-hearted but still formal salute in hopes of making her giggle. She seems thoroughly enamored by the great thing that is her father's beard, and he imagines if he were a baby again (oh, Gods, had he ever been that small?) he'd find it rather fascinating as well. The plant-baby mention sends his eyebrows crawling up his forehead in surprise, though he knows better than to ask a follow-up question. Things get strange when Gods and demi-gods are involved, enough to defy logic and explanation and really it was much wiser to just nod and accept it into reality. Icarus, as a soldier, is good enough at nodding at things he doesn't need to understand.
When Deimos' gaze shifts, Icarus follows it, more out of habit than curiosity, and sighs lightly at the conspicuous trap of the tumbleweed outside. "Another one?" He murmurs, more to himself than his commander, more in curiosity than in concern. He wonders if Deimos will light this one on fire, or merely hurl something at it until is explodes again. His attention turns back to the rich colors of the greenhouse, plucking a flower between two fingers. "I'd offer this to her but I'm afraid she'll just try to eat it. She's at around that age, right?"
His hands float from the flower he's touching to another one, this new one green and a little furry under his fingertips. "I've never made a flower crown before," His voice floats, distant and thinking, not quite catching the invitation laden in Deimos' voice. It does interest him in an academic, distant way. How would one make a flower crown? It seems like an odd, unknowable kind of magic, stranger and farther out of his grasp than the water magic that comes so easily to him, so at-odds with the cold landscape of Halo that even in this sacred place of warmth and greenery he can't fathom its existence.
The baby's name brings another true, childlike smile to his face, and his fingers flicker in another gentle wave. "Hi, Idalia," he greets, throwing her a half-hearted but still formal salute in hopes of making her giggle. She seems thoroughly enamored by the great thing that is her father's beard, and he imagines if he were a baby again (oh, Gods, had he ever been that small?) he'd find it rather fascinating as well. The plant-baby mention sends his eyebrows crawling up his forehead in surprise, though he knows better than to ask a follow-up question. Things get strange when Gods and demi-gods are involved, enough to defy logic and explanation and really it was much wiser to just nod and accept it into reality. Icarus, as a soldier, is good enough at nodding at things he doesn't need to understand.
When Deimos' gaze shifts, Icarus follows it, more out of habit than curiosity, and sighs lightly at the conspicuous trap of the tumbleweed outside. "Another one?" He murmurs, more to himself than his commander, more in curiosity than in concern. He wonders if Deimos will light this one on fire, or merely hurl something at it until is explodes again. His attention turns back to the rich colors of the greenhouse, plucking a flower between two fingers. "I'd offer this to her but I'm afraid she'll just try to eat it. She's at around that age, right?"
Icarus
and nobody told me it ended
