DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
The inexperience contorted wildly there, in the midst of other people’s opinions. For the Reaper, for the Sword, who’d never given a damn about how the rest of the world saw him, allowing actions to defy who he was, who’d he become, who he’d always been – this was nothing short of bewildering and perplexing. Why wouldn’t it be all right for Oliver to practice his incantations, his enchantments, his invocations, in the way he saw fit? Why not alter them, since he had no intention of utilizing them offensively? Why not lend and blend them to new tactics and fabrications, instead of letting them fade and waste away? “Yes. It is your choice.” If the youth wished to change his mind later, if something occurred where he was required to utilize them in a different way, what did it matter then? They were his possessions, his talents, his potential, and no one else could take that away from him. Deimos had always owned his abilities – death had been in his skin, in his blood, in each and every movement, and kingdoms had known it, had shied away from it, had maneuvered in its wake. An inquiry still managed to rumble from his chest, arms crossed, the reign of nonchalance still alive and well, though Oliver had managed to notch the slightest inclination of his brow. “Why would people get angry with you?” Better yet, why did Oliver care about what anyone else thought? The General stared openly at the lad, blinking once or twice at the sway of emotions revolving around the same dilemmas – how he was judged, how he was perceived. The fact remained that only Oliver could give them that ability to hold sway and torrents over his dominion – one person’s opinion shouldn’t have shattered, shouldn’t have broken. “Yes,” again and again, it was okay, it was fine, it was something he craved to achieve – so take it. “The training grounds do not have to be for combative purposes. You may go try it as performance art there.” Where if he lost control, no one was harmed. Where he could hone his capabilities without fear. Where there were few to become audience members, and the ones who wandered amongst its midst wouldn’t grant him any negative connotations. But he couldn't force him - the decisions, resolves, and determinations were of Oliver's own volition.
