It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
Deimos never really knew what to do with compliments. They’d been few and far between in Helovia, and while Caido contorted acceptance and devotion, he still tended to shirk and shrug away from accolades. “Yes. Best to train in any tactic available.” He wrinkled his nose briefly, some sharpened sign of amusement, before that too fell away, and he followed along, into the palace.
A studious, meticulous individual, he examined and scrutinized the layout, eyes riveting over doors to training grounds, armories, before being addressed again. A nod first for the clarification. “I can put them on wheels.” Much like the one he’d designed within the Grounds, capable of being maneuvered to wherever they wished. Three to accompany, and defend, noted in the back of his mind as they walked.
He didn’t expect the question, and didn’t know how to respond to it either. The Grounds had been fine, for the most part, but reeling losses kept hastening their detrimental effects across broad shoulders, already weighed down by everything else clambering over them. “The Grounds have been quiet.” Which, really, was ideal nowadays. Quiet moments here and there, calm intervals where they could assess damages or recover – just not enough to physically do the latter before the next great upheaval. “I have been better.” Not a lie, and not something he wanted to go into detail about; an avoidance, as he extended the questions in return. “How has Halo fared?”
A studious, meticulous individual, he examined and scrutinized the layout, eyes riveting over doors to training grounds, armories, before being addressed again. A nod first for the clarification. “I can put them on wheels.” Much like the one he’d designed within the Grounds, capable of being maneuvered to wherever they wished. Three to accompany, and defend, noted in the back of his mind as they walked.
He didn’t expect the question, and didn’t know how to respond to it either. The Grounds had been fine, for the most part, but reeling losses kept hastening their detrimental effects across broad shoulders, already weighed down by everything else clambering over them. “The Grounds have been quiet.” Which, really, was ideal nowadays. Quiet moments here and there, calm intervals where they could assess damages or recover – just not enough to physically do the latter before the next great upheaval. “I have been better.” Not a lie, and not something he wanted to go into detail about; an avoidance, as he extended the questions in return. “How has Halo fared?”
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
