DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
This was already a prime example of why the Sword rarely opened his mouth. It was easier to give dust and stones, instead of boulders. Easier to keep the status quo. Easier to breeze over and by. Easier to grant the world what it wanted and carry on, forging ahead. But he’d done it so many times, in so many ways, and at just the thought, the mere mention of not obliging someone, here they were. In some convoluted mess, in some tipping point of constant indulgences and rising tantrums. Storms that had been building and brewing on both sides, in both individuals, though not for these particular reasons – snapping over here and there, because everything was exhausting, fatiguing, and draining.
He dropped the Ru’s involvement – that was between them and he’d offered his support to her already – but this god forsaken scramble over a rock made his eyes roll and flicker over the horizon, back into the mist and fog, to the confused equine drifting on the surface. “Just because I can, does not mean I have to.” Whether that was a mantra for himself, for Nate, or anything else hardly mattered; it echoed and reverberated in his soul, against his ribs. “All I have done for the past few years is give endlessly.” Lifetimes, really. And where had it gotten him? Dead friends? Love that left? Ties like these, right here, right now, obviously held together by what he could do for others, and never the other way? “And I am running on empty.” So perhaps it had seemed miniscule, this gem he could’ve conjured in his palm out of nothing – but it had become a breaking, crumbling edge.
For what did he ever get in return? More people waiting with their hands out? Berated and condemned, by those like Wessex, who turned mere statements into molten misunderstandings?
Deimos sighed, and finally turned his head back towards the Ascended, the vaguest hints of danger lurking in the midst of his features. “And you stand there and whine, because I have not made your life easier in this one moment. Because you will have to do something you are capable of completing on your own.” The Sword would like to avoid all of these conversations too, but here they all were, lingering in the cuts and lacerations of others.
He shifted his cranium towards the water once more, but only when he heard a response – perplexing and bewildering, a shared motion over the expanse. It was such an abrupt, bizarre interlude and interim between all the other nuances, that he blinked multiple times, trying to absorb the information. “I talked to it,” he extended one open hand towards the water horse in a hapless, careless gesture, as if that explained anything. “It is offering rides, apparently.”
He dropped the Ru’s involvement – that was between them and he’d offered his support to her already – but this god forsaken scramble over a rock made his eyes roll and flicker over the horizon, back into the mist and fog, to the confused equine drifting on the surface. “Just because I can, does not mean I have to.” Whether that was a mantra for himself, for Nate, or anything else hardly mattered; it echoed and reverberated in his soul, against his ribs. “All I have done for the past few years is give endlessly.” Lifetimes, really. And where had it gotten him? Dead friends? Love that left? Ties like these, right here, right now, obviously held together by what he could do for others, and never the other way? “And I am running on empty.” So perhaps it had seemed miniscule, this gem he could’ve conjured in his palm out of nothing – but it had become a breaking, crumbling edge.
For what did he ever get in return? More people waiting with their hands out? Berated and condemned, by those like Wessex, who turned mere statements into molten misunderstandings?
Deimos sighed, and finally turned his head back towards the Ascended, the vaguest hints of danger lurking in the midst of his features. “And you stand there and whine, because I have not made your life easier in this one moment. Because you will have to do something you are capable of completing on your own.” The Sword would like to avoid all of these conversations too, but here they all were, lingering in the cuts and lacerations of others.
He shifted his cranium towards the water once more, but only when he heard a response – perplexing and bewildering, a shared motion over the expanse. It was such an abrupt, bizarre interlude and interim between all the other nuances, that he blinked multiple times, trying to absorb the information. “I talked to it,” he extended one open hand towards the water horse in a hapless, careless gesture, as if that explained anything. “It is offering rides, apparently.”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
