DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He was only half-listening when the name resounded along his ears, through his temple, and for a moment he stopped rooting through his bag, parsing the title within his mind for its recognition. Only a second later did the notion completely register, winding through memories, and coming along his machinating, calculating skull. Harper. The man who’d danced with Kiada. An inward, Cheshire grin began to form, fighting the urge, the inclination, to spill and spread across his mouth. Instead, his face remained carefully neutral, a pretense over the amusement, the mischief, the impish, devilish accord settling itself along his skin, reaching out his hand to shake in regard. “I have heard of you.” Then nothing more – an air of indifference when it was anything but: studying, examining, scrutinizing, pondering over the man.The rest was all the more interesting, an acrobat (because he wasn’t certain what on earth that actually was), especially the notes thereafter. Assassination and vigilantism enough to make his head turn back over his shoulder, closing his bag, placing a couple pieces of parchment down on the table. Both occupations had their uses, implementations in darker, necessary times. Which wasn’t now – and might never be, but training never harmed anyone. “What weapons do you prefer?” And he beckoned with a nod of his cranium, maneuvering towards the armory, with its mass of munitions and abilities. “We can spar. See what you are capable of.” A test for more than one reason; but he said naught of that implication, a snicker resting somewhere in his throat, eyes going back to the walls and shelves of armaments.
Unite and spread the heart apart
