hands off

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Quieted and hushed once more, weapons and accoutrements put away, just standing amidst lantern light along bakery gardens, he waited, watched, as Amun contemplated the prothesis for himself. The sigh billowing thereafter only kindled the notion it wasn’t quite enough – brows furrowing slightly in the darkness, pondering if there was a way he should’ve built it better, more adept at the finesse of weaponry than the skill it would require to hone a limb sufficiently. His jaw clenched in the broadening silence, pondering if some other axe was to fall, not believing the grin – he’d likely be the same way (and hadn’t he almost lost an arm once – eyes casting briefly to Zuriel before flickering away). “You are welcome,” a nod, harpooned and divulged into other notions and spirals, the reminders burning somewhere in the back of his mind. “I will.” Then they could both shift back into their corresponding rituals – finishing wherever or whatever they’d started. - FIN master of nothing place; of recoil and grace