[OPEN] (Re)Unions

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame They came; Caiside first, the only he didn’t recognize, pondering how Jigano had managed to escape, so the answers and deliberations were not for him. His eyes were solely on the horizon, swaying in each and every direction, finding great difficulty in absorbing any of the beauty of the Fae village in spite of his normal inquiring nature; fastened to one impending individual. For a few moments, despite his composed stature, he was a vexatious, tempestuous fool, the fervency trapped and seething between his fingers and muscles; practically pulsing with the strain, fully intending to make a damned scene if Amalia or Kiada were snagged and snared somewhere else, and they’d been betrayed – Then she appeared, a breathless little whim curling from her lips, and he stilled, the apprehension uncoiling as rapidly as it’d been kindled and incensed. He loosened several breaths in the matter of a second, quick and swift, but never glancing away. A small smile tucked itself along his lips, and he thought about reaching for her, in front of anyone and everyone, spinning her around in the center of the bungalows and high, lofting trees, the watching eyes, the scathing canopies, in effort to express his gratitude towards her safety. They weren’t liberators or freedom fighters; she’d done that all on her own, but for a beast who lived his life loss after loss, defeat after defeat, death after death, there was nothing greater to see and encompass one of their own rising from the scalding calamities and possibilities. Perhaps there’d been no danger, and maybe there’d been an endless, incriminating stance they couldn’t yet see. It didn’t really matter, in the here and now. But then they all seemed frozen in those haunting, paramount structures, incapable of doing or saying anything without a major risk, but he held her gaze regardless, an all-enduring shield of promises, reassurance. The world wouldn’t make him break away if they damn well tried; except her words are about Kiada, and some Adam figure still stuck in the pit. It’s in those movements and motions that they could go then, down into the doldrums, deliver some poor, unknown brute from his current state. It was action instead of sinking and simmering in the barbaric enigmas, instead of falling to pieces, instead of just openly staring at one another and doing naught else (he would, if the situation called for it). He arched his brow at her instead, the slightest ease of teasing refrains on the tip of his tongue, on his features, then shuffled away when he turned to the others. “Should we see to his freedom?” The warrior had already begun to move, maneuver, his way towards Amalia, presuming she could show them the way, very sneakily reaching forward with his palm to squeeze her fingers (promises, promises, and promises, an after clearly written in the lines of his hands), before releasing, looking back over his shoulder, awaiting the rest of them to follow suit. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace