DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength
didn't have the strength
On the last few days of their visit to Torchline, the monolith climbed the stairs of the lighthouse, watching the flickering, morning rays coil and contort along works of ornate glass, over a wave of endless blue that resounded in too many memories. Nothing of hardship, but of grandeur and life, before toppling works and wakes. Before everything else smoked and unfurled.
But he wasn’t here to reminisce, and he was certain Safrin would be cross over any of his inward crawls towards the past again. Maybe she'd be irritated anyway, given the manner of a smoldering building. He didn't know. So he shifted and turned his attentions to the beacon in the center. “You were right,” contorted from his mouth on a low rumble, a bludgeoning sigh, and maybe a portion of laughter as he shook his head, staring along the pedestals of the shrine. It quickly grew solemn though, as if blunted on the edges. “I have tried to maintain some manner of peace, instead of speaking my mind. Or put everyone else’s needs before my own.” Because it’d been easier, than digging and delving, than pushing into age-old wounds, than winding his way back into Reaper overtures of rage, wrath, and contempt. Be indifferent. Be reticent. Reserved. Wishing the world left him alone. Drawn back into silence so naught altered, changed, or upset some course.
But no one else did the same – and while he waged on, taking blame, responsibilities, and striving to fix things he simply couldn’t – they maneuvered and motioned forward. While he tended to his bone-deep wounds, tried to keep his head above the surface, they cast into other movements. While he was worn down and exhausted, they ambled and scattered. “So I took your advice,” as best he could; dove into proportions of mess, and some angles of contentment and expression. “Set boundaries, and clarified some feelings.” Began to rebuild himself – piece by piece, line by line, sketch by sketch. And sunk into some worse scruples, hinges of Reaper tendencies, staring down at the floor, wondering if it all mattered. "And I was not above pettiness and vengeance." And a softer, quieter inquiry made its way from his jaws. “Would you like to hear?” He supposed it was fine either way; if she didn’t, he at least had them for himself.
--
Turning in God Quest received in into fragments!
{Training} spikey snow castles - Clarifying his feelings over Oliver's attempts at espionage and information gathering (Oliver didn't think he cared)
{se} in the ink - Clarifying boundaries over item creation with Nate (Nate thought Deimos would make him a diamond)
black-eyed and remembering fire - Clarifying his sentiments towards Wessex (Wessex thought Deimos hated her from a prior thread)
break the silence - Elaborating on his dislike of Sunjata
{se} your chest is a wall of fire; you pick torches - Elaborating on friends/family with Aisha
But he wasn’t here to reminisce, and he was certain Safrin would be cross over any of his inward crawls towards the past again. Maybe she'd be irritated anyway, given the manner of a smoldering building. He didn't know. So he shifted and turned his attentions to the beacon in the center. “You were right,” contorted from his mouth on a low rumble, a bludgeoning sigh, and maybe a portion of laughter as he shook his head, staring along the pedestals of the shrine. It quickly grew solemn though, as if blunted on the edges. “I have tried to maintain some manner of peace, instead of speaking my mind. Or put everyone else’s needs before my own.” Because it’d been easier, than digging and delving, than pushing into age-old wounds, than winding his way back into Reaper overtures of rage, wrath, and contempt. Be indifferent. Be reticent. Reserved. Wishing the world left him alone. Drawn back into silence so naught altered, changed, or upset some course.
But no one else did the same – and while he waged on, taking blame, responsibilities, and striving to fix things he simply couldn’t – they maneuvered and motioned forward. While he tended to his bone-deep wounds, tried to keep his head above the surface, they cast into other movements. While he was worn down and exhausted, they ambled and scattered. “So I took your advice,” as best he could; dove into proportions of mess, and some angles of contentment and expression. “Set boundaries, and clarified some feelings.” Began to rebuild himself – piece by piece, line by line, sketch by sketch. And sunk into some worse scruples, hinges of Reaper tendencies, staring down at the floor, wondering if it all mattered. "And I was not above pettiness and vengeance." And a softer, quieter inquiry made its way from his jaws. “Would you like to hear?” He supposed it was fine either way; if she didn’t, he at least had them for himself.
--
Turning in God Quest received in into fragments!
{Training} spikey snow castles - Clarifying his feelings over Oliver's attempts at espionage and information gathering (Oliver didn't think he cared)
{se} in the ink - Clarifying boundaries over item creation with Nate (Nate thought Deimos would make him a diamond)
black-eyed and remembering fire - Clarifying his sentiments towards Wessex (Wessex thought Deimos hated her from a prior thread)
break the silence - Elaborating on his dislike of Sunjata
{se} your chest is a wall of fire; you pick torches - Elaborating on friends/family with Aisha
still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke
sturdy and smelling of smoke
