runaway

DEIMOS

There were different sorts of provocateurs. Some were agents of discord amidst their discourse, their dialogue, locking down pandemics and acrimony through their fluid, anarchical words – chaos unfurling from their tongues. He had an image of a golden fox, haunting the edges of the Aurora Basin, not wielding a sword, but his teeth, his fangs, his language, to inspire and incite. Unfortunately, neither he nor Kiada were these sorts – collected, composed, coiled, action over eloquence, jumping into the fray, ensuring their opinions were heard through vigilance, through vehemence, through violence. It was this understanding that had carried them to these points, how he’d managed to survive for eons in multiple lifelines and trials, because they all knew at some point he’d clench his jaw, forgo apathy, indifference, or reticence, and fight. Maybe that’s what they needed to do now, dig deep into their marrow, into their flesh and bone, into the state of their irreverent rapture, and remember what they’d always been. Monsters. Fiends. Demons. Blackguards. Children of fire, of ice, of barbarity, of stone, of Stygian interludes and blackened masks, treading through open flame with little regard for themselves; the end results before their eyes. Their convictions were in themselves, and not the space, the piety, or the promises in between; there was no time to be guided by tyrants, by legions of leashed parameters. They’d never done it before – why were they starting now?

“If you need anything, come to my home.” His eyes were narrowed, revealing naught of the intentions simmering beneath, the granules of sedition and insurrection pushing and pulling at his flesh. Now, it hummed in the dredges of his mind, recoiling and begging to be unleashed. The time is now. “I have a variety of weapons.” And he’d willingly outfit his friends with whatever they required.

i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky