DEIMOS
The smiles and the frowns pierce along, he watched, waited, listened for other intonations, cues to continue or to simmer, withhold or refrain. The latter was the easiest and the former the hardest, good assimilations on Kiada’s recovery, an exception taken at the notion of Ru’in. He wondered what it meant for Hotaru too, if things pieced together, if the Harpy was successful, if the poor, beleaguered crafter would ever gain a chance, an opportunity, for a life beyond meager means and spread remnants. The beast clenched his jaw in thought, furrowing his brows in idle formation, wishing again for something to do with his hands instead of simmering on the edge of his chair. There was no note of him staying here, of the obvious lack of his presence as Kiada went off to sear and scald in the dark; he hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t either, but the insinuations had always been there. Overprotective and hovering, desperate to harpoon things out of the way for anyone and everyone in his life – but that wasn’t how they could all live. She was strong. She was enduring. She was a storm, a tempest, an inferno. He’d just have faith that the world would see that, comprehend that, understand that.
At her surprise though, he reared slightly back, as if expecting the sly motives of Hotaru’s all-knowing grin to come in mirrors, reflections, and reverberations back at him, and some kind of vicious assault to follow. Half the time he never told of any vulnerabilities, of any contentment, because he didn’t crave for them to be utilized as weapons, as munitions, as assailments for adversaries and enemies.
But Rexanna wasn’t either of those things; and he bore witness to the bright grin instead of the duplicity, instead of the expected speciousness and glorified siege suddenly in his wake – setting him at ease. His shoulders came down, his spine lost its taut, tethered rigidity, eyes flickering downcast as he contemplated where to begin. A certain amount of shame existed in his chest at the notion that Rexanna had simply never known (when it’d been nearly a year before – his furtiveness purposefully cast towards those of Jigano’s ilk, and unfortunately, to some of his greatest friends too; old habits struggling to fade), a dash of red hues along his cheeks thankfully she wouldn’t be able to view. “We are together,” he shrugged, even in the midst of his following smile, as if it was nothing when it really was everything. “Since last Fiat Lux,” which ended on the slightest chuckle, chagrin and amusement and some portion of contentment winning over the indignities of his flaws and defects. The mountain did not press over his luck, did not share in the thoughts of being undeserving of the Shield’s affections and devotion; the Thief was one of the few to know him the best. To fathom those unspoken layers. To interpret the enamel, the lacquer, underneath, just how far he’d come from Reaper to Sword (or how quickly he could shift back again).
At her surprise though, he reared slightly back, as if expecting the sly motives of Hotaru’s all-knowing grin to come in mirrors, reflections, and reverberations back at him, and some kind of vicious assault to follow. Half the time he never told of any vulnerabilities, of any contentment, because he didn’t crave for them to be utilized as weapons, as munitions, as assailments for adversaries and enemies.
But Rexanna wasn’t either of those things; and he bore witness to the bright grin instead of the duplicity, instead of the expected speciousness and glorified siege suddenly in his wake – setting him at ease. His shoulders came down, his spine lost its taut, tethered rigidity, eyes flickering downcast as he contemplated where to begin. A certain amount of shame existed in his chest at the notion that Rexanna had simply never known (when it’d been nearly a year before – his furtiveness purposefully cast towards those of Jigano’s ilk, and unfortunately, to some of his greatest friends too; old habits struggling to fade), a dash of red hues along his cheeks thankfully she wouldn’t be able to view. “We are together,” he shrugged, even in the midst of his following smile, as if it was nothing when it really was everything. “Since last Fiat Lux,” which ended on the slightest chuckle, chagrin and amusement and some portion of contentment winning over the indignities of his flaws and defects. The mountain did not press over his luck, did not share in the thoughts of being undeserving of the Shield’s affections and devotion; the Thief was one of the few to know him the best. To fathom those unspoken layers. To interpret the enamel, the lacquer, underneath, just how far he’d come from Reaper to Sword (or how quickly he could shift back again).
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
