DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
His back? Scarred for certain – but years upon years of training, of toiling, of then being healed likely made up for the broken, jarred adornments, of avoiding the parameters that came with the blemishes and mottling over his flesh. Or dying once before, and returning, resurrecting, a renewal in more ways than one. “It is not,” he answered on a sullen sort of pout, but maintaining the humor in his eyes. At the mention of moments where he wasn’t working though, the General's brows furrowed slightly in thought – hastening towards timelines and parameters, particulars and details, setting apart a demonstration and tenacity of instances. And subsequently falling flat. “I had a break. When I was sick.” A half-smirk flickered and followed, expecting some lecture on that escapade too (pretending he didn’t immediately wander into trying to find the cure, or fighting a leviathan soon after). “It does not come naturally,” he shrugged by way of explanation.
Because sometimes he feared some small act of repose permitted the demons and thoughts and emotions to float in; suffocate, choke, and devastate.
But he did laugh at her insinuation of keeping him distracted from his task. “Mm. My savior.” Another swipe of snow, and he watched the powder dissipate into the pile, before his glance flickered back to her. “I do appreciate you,” the monolith added, remembering Safrin’s notions, of expression, of saying what he meant – for all of Aisha’s efforts and existence.
Another chuckle, deep and exuding from his chest, rumbled on her insinuation of Nate – prone to agree with the sentiments. “And entitled.” As if he’d somehow deserved any of Deimos’ incantations at his behest. Simply because he could. But her next statement caused his gaze to fall to the stones at his feet, knowing it was true, and sometimes still struggling to believe it. Growth, no matter how thorned and nettled, no matter how much he wanted to fight against the sentiments. “Thank you.” A half-grin for his appreciation, pausing to lean against the shovel again, as she once more pulled him out of the mire threatening to pull him asunder. “And I am tired of being used.” Another shrug, as if he wanted to shake it all off. “A work in progress.”
Because sometimes he feared some small act of repose permitted the demons and thoughts and emotions to float in; suffocate, choke, and devastate.
But he did laugh at her insinuation of keeping him distracted from his task. “Mm. My savior.” Another swipe of snow, and he watched the powder dissipate into the pile, before his glance flickered back to her. “I do appreciate you,” the monolith added, remembering Safrin’s notions, of expression, of saying what he meant – for all of Aisha’s efforts and existence.
Another chuckle, deep and exuding from his chest, rumbled on her insinuation of Nate – prone to agree with the sentiments. “And entitled.” As if he’d somehow deserved any of Deimos’ incantations at his behest. Simply because he could. But her next statement caused his gaze to fall to the stones at his feet, knowing it was true, and sometimes still struggling to believe it. Growth, no matter how thorned and nettled, no matter how much he wanted to fight against the sentiments. “Thank you.” A half-grin for his appreciation, pausing to lean against the shovel again, as she once more pulled him out of the mire threatening to pull him asunder. “And I am tired of being used.” Another shrug, as if he wanted to shake it all off. “A work in progress.”
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
