DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Perhaps it would help. Perhaps it wouldn’t. It all hinged, depended, and mattered on Oliver’s ambitions and aspirations; the Sword had granted and given what he could (though, if it was so generic – why hadn’t Oliver thought of it himself?). Being willing to try, to attempt, to do something other than wallow or whine would impact the younger individual probably more than he realized; and so Deimos nodded to the credentials, convictions, and anything else Oliver sputtered in the haze. It might change over time again and again, as more things came to light, as more dangers settled into the fold, as more powers came to him. Then he seemed to want to make a swift retreat; and so the General nodded once more, deep, rumbling tones proffering the same as before. “You are welcome.” Welcome to the wisdom, sagacity, and the use of the training grounds for whatever purpose he deemed a necessity, for whatever strides he was striving to gain. Thereafter, they could both be on their way, Oliver to wherever, and Deimos back to the swords, back to the makeshift arena.
-FIN
