DEIMOS
It turned out discussing contentment and happier things was out of the ordinary for the Reaper turned Sword; because his worlds had never been much for glee or exuberance – too dark, too nefarious, too touched by unholy enamel. He raised his glass, also now empty, to clink against Remi’s, celebrating a lack of death in a futile effort. The beast shook his head, muffled a snort, and poured them each more, refilling, refilling, refilling, uncertain of what would come after.He wasn’t surprised to hear Remi had been conscripted to make the rings – he’d christened his own, after all. Deimos had only made ring boxes and a brazier, signed emblems and posted to boards, but he tilted his head in curiosity at timelines, thinking to arch his brow at the notion of wasting time when Remi and Ronin’s nuptials had seemed quick. He smothered down that chuckle too – understanding the likely reasons why (because blight scorched and flailed and broke them down into nothing, amidst numerous others things threatening to topple them down, and the alchemist had surely craved anything he could have in the span of those moments). The warrior also failed to mention Rexanna’s previously botched marriages – none of his business or concern – but he could comprehend why she’d taken a far less rocky road, had snagged at the opportunity for a man quite unlike Tembovu. “As long as she is happy,” he shrugged, swallowed another round of liquor. Then, on an entirely different whim, he conjured an inquiry of his own. “How did you know when your creations could be enhanced?” He paused, pondering if that was enough – because he’d been able to concoct bigger items for a time now, but there was something brewing and brooding underneath, and he wasn’t entirely certain what it was. The hunch wasn’t quite enough.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
