the rest will fall in line

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts The machinations blurred, twisted, and turned, steady and assured, brilliant and blistering, listening keenly to whatever small, tiny bits the Fae could provide: they might have gotten distracted indeed. He didn’t believe the notion, knew and gave his comrades far more credit than such a nuance, but nodded instead, encouraging the fountain to continue providing – but then there’s a mild snag, and he laughed, a loud, ricocheting chuckle. It didn’t meet his eyes, his heart, his lungs, but rattled around in his vocals like a cage, because now he had to offer something for the world to advance. But first – His stare pinpointed on her, a piercing, glacial expanse, mouth parting to describe the ones he’d lost. “Two women – one dark-haired, about 5’7”, blue eyes,” and it sounded so bland, so mundane, when they were far more than these damned finite details (Kiada, her name is Kiada, and she was fire, brimstone, and defiance; she’d stab and mutilate, how did she end up in there). He continued, vocals precise, concise, succinct, when there were far too many things he could’ve said, kept to himself, tucked away and hid, not daring to grant them to a stranger. “The other is around the same size, black eyes, high cheekbones,” (radiant, audacious, Amalia the baker, infinitely generous and beneficent). Then his head tilted, cranium swarming with the ideas and sentiments of what he could provide - and it simply mattered on what she craved and required (he didn’t allow it to bristle against his core, the more manipulative, the more cunning, the more ruthless endeavors striking their chord in the heart of the beast). “What do you want?” Jiao the last of a line of lasts