[PQ] [SE] Sing Down the Stars

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

The beast waited, as he often did, for any blunt, obvious disapproval of his presence. It’d been a frequent occurrence in past lives, passed looks of disdain, abhorrence, fear, or outright distaste: for the representation of who and what he was, misunderstandings cooling and warping, the chilling silence accompanying his essence. He wasn’t sure if Jigano wanted him there or not, their light, easygoing balance in the bakery going quickly south the moment the bard admitted follies on an adventure gone eerily wrong – apologies and mends struggling to take, and though he’d tried, the measure of mischief didn’t quite level along his bloodstream in the here and now. Maybe it was gone. Maybe it was vacant. Maybe it just hadn’t hit the right notes yet. He still smiled in the Reaper’s direction, and he took it as a step, swallowing down the awkward disposition settling in his core; the acceptance he so readily sought seemingly remaining. His smile stayed, a brow arching at the notes on strings. The next, and only one, to join them though was a wild reprieve, and the Reaper did allow his grin to become much more earnest, brighter, lifting out of stone and rubble with surprising ease. The warrior presided calmly while his heart beat a mercurial rhapsody, back and forth, blinding and unwinding, as she sauntered forth, proffering her rolls and pastries to Jigano, then the inaction, the unknown, the widening gaps between perseverance, preservation, and secrets. His brow arched at her, an unsaid inquiry, before a hand came to pat the log’s empty space beside him, a provision for her even she was willing to take it. He really didn’t give a damn if Jigano saw or not; eventually, despite their furtive natures, they would’ve given up some thread of nuance or demonstration of their affections. Jigano’s cheer spiraled back across the surface, and his piercing gaze was forced to break away from hers, staring at the bard as he insisted upon what they’d do next. It was fine by him; the gestures were unfamiliar in the here and now (once – he’d have committed to this a hundred times, drinking by the fire and shouting, laughing, until their throats were raw and hoarse with the conviction of soused soldiers; remembering victories instead of defeats). “I have some venison,” he proceeded into the stoking foundations, leaning forward to grab the meat. Then, without much aplomb or fanfare, he rose from his chosen seat and curled his hands over the fire, the flames. Within an instant, the silent enchantments whittled and released from his hands, settling in quiet fashion – wooden stands and spokes stretched high and over the fire, while a metallic rod centered itself across the beams: a spit, so that the pieces of raw deer could be cooked to anyone’s desire. He slid the rod out of place, skewered it through three portions with an obvious ease, as if puncturing, lacerating, and stabbing through flesh, blood, and marrow was a regular ritual, then placed the bar back along its stand. He’d turn it from time to time, ensuring every side was cooked through. As for themes for a song…he was only familiar with themes of avarice, greed, and drunken caterwauling. His eyes found Amalia’s for an instant, hoping to share some hidden amusement (that’s a lie, that’s a lie springing in his head, unbidden), before sliding back over to Jigano. “New adventures? Opportunities?” It was what lingered in the ominous shores; the Fae’s forest, the inclusion of friends, stalwart goals and ambitions crisscrossing in lines and wires. And if not, perhaps another could come up with a better anomaly to pledge a tune to. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate