i fell in love with a war
Icarus takes the redirection for what it is, allowing his shoulders to leach out some of the tension that had built in them though still finding comfort residing in his taut, ready solider’s stance. Deimos’ question acts as a salve to Icarus’ guilty conscience; it’s not a rebuke, or an order, or a demand for Icarus to prove himself to the Warden in this moment. Icarus doesn’t know what to call it, but it’s certainly comforting, more of a return to form than whatever haze of reminiscence he had been lingering in before he ruined it. Though it’s not a dare — it doesn’t have the flavor of it — Icarus can recognize a Task, a fun one at that, and one that could potentially push his skills closer to his desired level of competence. Another gleam of tension leaves the set of his jaw as his mind begins to tick and calculate the necessary aspects for the Completion Of The Task.
Icarus follows Deimos’ gaze to the tumbleweed outside, unobtrusively sitting outside the greenhouse, just an innocent murderous plant hoping to snag someone in those writhing vines. He gets a little competitive gleam in his dark eyes, the one that spells trouble, and his wrist begins to move in that twisting spiraling way it always does when he’s channeling magic. With a flick of one of them, a little tendril of water forms outside the greenhouse and like a snake shoots out at the tumbleweed-thing, striking into the center of it and dispersing into air once done.
The young soldier flinches less as the thing bursts apart into a cloud of plants and vines and presumably-unpleasant detritus, anticipating its implosion, and he allows a small, proud smile to creep onto his face before glancing up at his commander for assessment.
”How’s that, sir?” he asks, and it’s the kind of question that could be smug and boasting in the asking but Icarus asks it with such earnestness that even if someone looked at the question funny, they’d only find his genuine desire to know the answer.
Icarus follows Deimos’ gaze to the tumbleweed outside, unobtrusively sitting outside the greenhouse, just an innocent murderous plant hoping to snag someone in those writhing vines. He gets a little competitive gleam in his dark eyes, the one that spells trouble, and his wrist begins to move in that twisting spiraling way it always does when he’s channeling magic. With a flick of one of them, a little tendril of water forms outside the greenhouse and like a snake shoots out at the tumbleweed-thing, striking into the center of it and dispersing into air once done.
The young soldier flinches less as the thing bursts apart into a cloud of plants and vines and presumably-unpleasant detritus, anticipating its implosion, and he allows a small, proud smile to creep onto his face before glancing up at his commander for assessment.
”How’s that, sir?” he asks, and it’s the kind of question that could be smug and boasting in the asking but Icarus asks it with such earnestness that even if someone looked at the question funny, they’d only find his genuine desire to know the answer.
Icarus
and nobody told me it ended
