remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Snorts and eyerolls were better than the doom and gloom, which they’d both had quite enough of in the past few months, seasons, and years; give or take the abundance of misery and melancholy in their lives. So he remained a seditious, mutinous slate, wrinkling his nose again, head raised in an imperial glance, not yielding to her arguments. “Yes.” A huff, a snort of his own, residual and inherent in his chest, followed and rallied. “He gave me presents once too.” Committed to his edge and ends, he intentionally provoked; needling along, as if presiding that she’d likely never received such honors. The subject matter shifting to Wessex of all people caused a grimace; mostly because he didn’t want to waste any time, enjoyment, or good drinks on the Wraith. Perhaps it was wiser not to answer on this front – uncertain if Hotaru was still friends with the monarch – because she might’ve fit the definition of such heathens and fiends, just as much as they did. Was there remorse or consequences for her actions against the Fae? Any vehemence for her justified antics on leading her people to slaughter? Was it because a majority survived, that everything was fine?
He had no defense for her. Wessex had no need of going further into the mold to prove herself an instrument of destruction.
So he ignored it; sagacity still paramount in the forefront of his mind, even if it was slightly dulled by drink. Instead, the beast gave a light round of laughter as the glass shattered, lightning uninhibited, feeling the sparks angle their way towards him. Static pulsed and pulled at his own hair, and for a few moments they were held aloft in the most ridiculous way. But he didn’t take her hand – had no need to be zapped and pulsing before they could even make their way out of the door, rising steadily on his own, and grabbing hold of his bag still hanging off the chair. Another snort ensued, opening the entrance so she could somehow shuffle her way through, and out they could wander into the evening – stupefying and ridiculous.
“It sounds like you are jealous I have been so blessed,” Deimos tossed back in obvious sarcasm, having never thought of himself as any form of paragon, both of them knowing full well that hardly any light had ever touched his soul. In figments, fractions, and fractures; before dissipating the way they’d come.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
