Deimos
The Sword always followed the flames – drawn and ensconced within them just the same. For a time though, he watched and waited, looming in the distance, hovering in the shadows, striving to prepare his mind for what lingered upon thresholds and avoidances. They danced around subject matters in the quiet before, easier than bounding headfirst into tempests or fathoms, and his eyes remained narrowed, speculative, even as her hands maneuvered, outstretched, beckoning.
Deimos went to the kettle first, snagging at the teacup resting there, pouring the contents within the miniature vessel. A long sigh threaded through him, probably some form of eventuality breathing down their necks, though he couldn’t be certain about the whys and the reasons any longer. Maybe she could ask the same of him, bearing another title across his shoulders even though the distaste for it had always resided amidst bones and enamel. His head bowed slightly, taking his time and a sip of the concoction, before another rumble flowed. “What prompted this?”
Deimos went to the kettle first, snagging at the teacup resting there, pouring the contents within the miniature vessel. A long sigh threaded through him, probably some form of eventuality breathing down their necks, though he couldn’t be certain about the whys and the reasons any longer. Maybe she could ask the same of him, bearing another title across his shoulders even though the distaste for it had always resided amidst bones and enamel. His head bowed slightly, taking his time and a sip of the concoction, before another rumble flowed. “What prompted this?”
you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight
all venom and fistfight
