Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
The Reaper hoarded secrets and information for an eternity, kept them under lock and key, never pried from his lips unless it was for a manipulative means. Spilling anything to him was likely a safe bet, but it also meant he wasn’t about to be forthcoming in his own predilections; such was the case now. If she was offended by not being in on the furtive, specious deliberations, his shrug noted his indifference, his rogue, ruffian snicker indicated his taunting. Almost aloof, he raised his head to gaze elsewhere, perhaps along the hearth, where the papers had long since burned away any evidence of his plans. “You will know eventually.” Just not now – proffering her the slightest boon, then applying the pretense of nonchalance and apathy, hands pulling apart some portions of bread while she spoke of the things and events surrounding her life.
He’d already known about the Guild, had assisted in its opening, but the Wessex contribution again was a curious one – had the Wraith intended to join, meld some of her actions into the monster hunting ministrations now? His eyes narrowed briefly, on the table rather than the Harpy, his calculating nature taking over. “Is she going to continue her involvement?” Mild curiosity, uncertain of how to weigh Wessex’s actions as of late; circumstances sometimes headed to the greater good, others circling the drain, inspiring vehemence. The other notions spiraling thereafter, of a man named Harper (pondering if this meant he had someone else to hunt down, only on mere speculations and intrigue, of course) and their dancing (and Deimos was fully aware of the potential road to other revolutions there). The Sword arched a singular brow, containing all those small nuances and bemusements along the teasing lines and measures, other notions conspiring beneath flesh, blood, and bone, but left unsaid. “They have their similarities.” A shrug for her too; both capable of maneuvering with finesse of bloodshed, ruin, and battlefields; less inclined to waltz near ballrooms.
He’d already known about the Guild, had assisted in its opening, but the Wessex contribution again was a curious one – had the Wraith intended to join, meld some of her actions into the monster hunting ministrations now? His eyes narrowed briefly, on the table rather than the Harpy, his calculating nature taking over. “Is she going to continue her involvement?” Mild curiosity, uncertain of how to weigh Wessex’s actions as of late; circumstances sometimes headed to the greater good, others circling the drain, inspiring vehemence. The other notions spiraling thereafter, of a man named Harper (pondering if this meant he had someone else to hunt down, only on mere speculations and intrigue, of course) and their dancing (and Deimos was fully aware of the potential road to other revolutions there). The Sword arched a singular brow, containing all those small nuances and bemusements along the teasing lines and measures, other notions conspiring beneath flesh, blood, and bone, but left unsaid. “They have their similarities.” A shrug for her too; both capable of maneuvering with finesse of bloodshed, ruin, and battlefields; less inclined to waltz near ballrooms.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
