[seasonal event] fell to the top

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

He could feel the pull of a snare, a noose, around his neck; not vile, not malicious, but a trap just the same. The bait had been set and the lure cast, and Jigano’s sly smile was just waiting for the right moment to catch the Reaper; the warrior’s glances meandered on the vendors, but didn’t truly see them past the unsettling glares or recalcitrant stares. Perhaps he’d said too much; even if they’d only been less than ten words, the inflections hadn’t been flat enough, the intonations still clear. He struggled to maintain a certain fluidity, composition, composure, as they traversed along cobblestones and rocks, ensuring his footfalls were the right march, the correct pace, how to deflect, how to manage the prickling behind his shoulders, clawing against his spine. He’d never enjoyed being caught – and though this had far less implications, consequences, or punishments, the potential for a pitfall remained. The beast wouldn’t have to bang against his prison walls or unleash his tyranny, his treachery, but he didn’t want lasting repercussions either, didn’t know if Amalia intended for subterfuge and secrets laden amidst promises. So Deimos ensured his eyes didn’t widen at the wry musings of the bard as he manifested clarity from bare bones and fringes, forgoing his surprise and bewilderment for the quickened pace of his heart, turning his head to stare, almost defiantly, at Jigano, before unleashing his eyes elsewhere. He didn’t say anything about the nuances of Amalia’s light or the glimpses of heavens in the traces of his coiled darkness, or how he was incredibly unworthy of any essence of those luminescent beams; Jigano was likely already aware of that. “True,” he dodged, bolted, and strived to evade, instigating veracity and candor with a brief, curt nod of his head, perhaps a proclamation, perhaps not, all depending on how far Jigano wanted to play his game. The Reaper was already running out of excuses and methods to avoid this sort of ambush though; it wasn’t his favored mode of assault or siege, and he was struggling on defensive ends. Very rarely had anyone ever bothered to pry, let alone slink and roam through enigmas, paradoxes, and quandaries he hadn’t sorted out himself – but understanding, comprehending, what was beloved was beloved. At Jigano’s further incitement, a provocation, a test, to see if the soldier would bite, he shrugged. “Thought she would like it.” Now for a block, a parry, a deviation, a distraction; on the battlefield he could’ve tossed a spear into someone’s side, could’ve set enemy equipment ablaze, could’ve raised chaos and bedlam in the name of victory. Here it was an exchange of words, and he was already sorely lacking. “Perhaps I can make Kiada something too.” That seemed safe, harmless; and he wouldn’t mind crafting the audacious harpy a gift. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate