Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Another LongNight twisted and turned amidst its doldrums; and the Sword once more refused to let the residual torment of the past maul the present. Difficult it may be, but he didn’t pace the floors or stare mulishly around in some restless, impending anarchy, staring into oblivion until it stared back; business was the same, the darkness pressed, loomed, and his bracelet glowed.It signified movement and progress and something else, but they couldn’t be denied theirs either. So he only stared at the luminous portions for an instant, before snagging at the cider, and pouring glasses for both of them. Sliding it over to the Evergreen, waiting for some pending volley, he settled at the counter, leaning over and staring down at the notebook and charcoal, clearly waiting for his movement and motions. The fact that this one remained entirely blank wasn’t lost on Deimos; there’d been multitudes of other things occurring, and the eternal trap of staying busy amidst meetings after meetings, event after event, had snagged and snarled once again.
But not now. The rest of the world could wait. “Where do you want to start?”
