who we are and all that we're trying to be
He waited for something to drop, for some other gut-wrenching nuance; but for now, it was chairs and couches, explanations honed for absences and darkened skies. Deimos had never required any clarifications from the goddess – presuming she, and all the others, had been working on recovering, on repairing, on unfurling the damage wrought and then everything thereafter. “Understandable,” was a whisper and a nuance, permitting a slight, hesitant smile to regard one corner of his mouth.
Sitting down, he glanced at the others as they were addressed, and then his head bowed once more, eternally listening. Only at the offer did his gaze spring back up towards the deity, on repairs, on healing nuances.
And though he’d never been a vain creature, taking hold a semblance of pride in each scar borne, in each brutality he’d survived, the persistence of one in particular, crawling along the edges of chest and shoulder, had been enough to conjure distaste. Not for the blemish itself, nor the meaning surrounding it, but the essence left behind of the Core – as if it was still permitted to remain, in some shade, in some way. Musing and mulling, he eventually allowed another rumble through the dreamlike haze. “Could this scar be removed?” Pointing towards where the Core’s demigod had chiseled straight through armor and skin, deep into the rivulets of his flesh, patterns of circuits and unnatural states.
And if not, it had been worth it to ask. “Thank you,” because the offer might’ve been enough.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
