[Training] I still don't want to be here

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The title seemed to have some effect, even if his formidable figure hadn’t. There was a singular arch to his brow at the quiet murmur from the stranger, muffling another snort as he faced the roofing, continuing the painstaking process. It gave the individual time to process and figure out what they wanted to do, wanted to say, without invoking, inspiring, or instigating something from the General’s infernal qualities. Then there was the heavy sigh, the indications of a bad day, and that the Sword hadn’t deserved the implications. While the latter was certainly true, Deimos shrugged it off, the nonverbal indifference and apathy already taking affect, concentration honing on a particularly tough shingle, ripping, pulling, tearing, until it was taken away from its adherence, thrown down with the others. From his vantage point along the ladder, his piercing eyes segmented, riveted, back to Sah, with a head tilt indicating curiosity, and visually feline in its measures. “What is your dilemma, Sah?” A casual rumble, as if these things happened often (and they did – the scale of rotten, wretched, horrendous hours had a definite scale, and sometimes they stumbled upon them simultaneously, in rapid, torturous upheavals). He’d had his own multitude of months and seasons drowning in the murk, striving to remain above the surface. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace