the rest will fall in line

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts Ever the riveted listener, the scrupulous observer, Deimos watched the way she delivered the information, memorizing it, cataloguing the notions of The Pit and Sidhe away, noting how she seemed almost disinterested in it, apathetic towards any of the sentiments. Perhaps that was the way of the Fae – indifferent towards those who’d crossed into their borders, nonchalant towards those who’d stretched their limbs and dared to explore. He and Kiada had been the same once before – it could have easily been him in those woods, curled in a damned hole. He tried not to snarl or raise his hackles, maintaining the placid composure he’d managed to wrangle along his face, and nodded at her insistence towards not mentioning where he’d gained his information. There might’ve been betrayal in her words, in her phrases, either towards him or her own kind, so he took and took and took when he could, but extended honor and nobility when required. “I will not.” He would just utilize the wisdom, the sagacity, the notes, try and desperately lead them towards some hole in the ground, to save their kin. As for his integrity in exchanges and trades, he wouldn’t betray that either. Unfortunately for Jiao, the Reaper was no expert in shiny, opulent things, either with sparkles or garb. He much preferred the darkness, the shadows, the pulsing, pervading sensation of damnation. Luckily, though, he did have the ability to create, though he’d never attempted anything other than weaponry, knives honed and sharpened, eager for the opportunity to kill. He furrowed his brow, glanced down at his palms, tried to imagine beautiful fabric, like tapestries of queens and princesses, the ones he’d knelt before, way off in the distance, with their flicker of gold and haughty, impudent features. Thread wound its way into his hands, sliding along his fingertips, weaving itself into small segments (his eyes widened then – at the bizarreness of the power, too used to everything massacring and bludgeoning to pay much attention to the other options), twisting and turning until it was settled in a bolt of fabric; peacock hued. The beast blinked several times, and then proffered it towards her, uncertain if this was what she demanded. “Will this suffice?” the last of a line of lasts