we're all killers
She spun in, laughter and relief, and it set him at ease as she began to chime and chirp out the information. The first key notice was not working for Zariah anymore; which was a welcome feat, and a slow smile began to thread its way along his mouth, indulgent even amidst his gaze. There was a joy, an exultation, to her movements and voice that hadn’t been there before – they’d all been too lost in the reverberations of the Merciless’s last exposition, everything falling apart, decadent shades twisting, pulling, and extorting them into different positions and alignments. Rexanna, last he knew, had been in the monarch’s clutches, drawn and drawn and drawn back to the courtier life, to where her duplicity could reign, but where danger could follow. His grin was a complimentary one, ending on a smirk, a snicker, proud of her accomplishments – there had been days before where it might not have been a feasible conjunction, and they’d planned to orchestrate other means, other measures. “Congratulations,” his voice rumbled, pleased, content, fervent to hear the hows, the whys, and the whens.
He maneuvered, grabbing hold of the latest liquor he’d intended to consume, filling two glasses, and placing one in front of her. An easygoing camaraderie instilled, furnished and designated from years of accord and speciousness; applied now in a completely different world. Then he sidled to the nearest seat, dropping his arms to the table’s edge, all the more appearing like a curious scholar, the young, brash soldier at the frontlines, chomping at the bit to defy and riddle his way to death’s door; rapt and eager to hear the latest tale. “Spill.”
He maneuvered, grabbing hold of the latest liquor he’d intended to consume, filling two glasses, and placing one in front of her. An easygoing camaraderie instilled, furnished and designated from years of accord and speciousness; applied now in a completely different world. Then he sidled to the nearest seat, dropping his arms to the table’s edge, all the more appearing like a curious scholar, the young, brash soldier at the frontlines, chomping at the bit to defy and riddle his way to death’s door; rapt and eager to hear the latest tale. “Spill.”
DEIMOS
