Prying words from the big man was as difficult as the proverbial pulling of teeth, and Jigano regarded his reluctant companion soberly after the one-word answer to his question about Auni. He had tried - was trying - to bridge the divide that the crisis had cracked wide between them. Perhaps, had Amalia and Kiada not chosen to follow him, had he not chosen to follow Ianto, had a half dozen other things not happened in the way that they had, then he and Deimos might have continued down the path of cordiality and proto-friendship begun at the bakery.
But 'perhaps' did not change the past, nor what had been broken. Deimos had deigned to speak to him without rancor, had gifted him a basket woven of magic and dreams, offered peace... but it was too soon to push for more than that, if it ever would be time for it. Jigano had let his relief at their friends' safety blind his instincts and lead to an uncharacteristic optimism that things were not as bad as they had initially seemed.
Or rather, that they were better than they had been, but tempers and the words spoken from them could not be moved past so easily. Still, the bard made a final try, one last attempt to draw the terse warrior into friendlier conversation. A few more words, a laugh that may or may not held humor, or something darker, and the bard tilted his head curiously at the big man... but Deimos went silent again, hoarding words and memories both, and Jigano stifled a sigh. No questions in turn, and little enough information given for free. The conversation was a burden that was swiftly losing its appeal as he looked out over the Sidhe Village - above them, around them, Fae walking or gliding or flying on errands, studiously ignoring the two oversized foreigners, or glaring at them from a distance.
He was not used to feeling so unwelcome. Not without having done something to earn it, first, at least, and since the fall of the would-be Iron God and his followers and... others... he had not experienced such outright hatred from an entire village.
He was, however, used to feeling alone in a crowd, the sensation a familiar cloak that he settled back into even as he tilted his head back to the morning sunshine, feeling the tug of home pulling his heart back towards the Hollowed Grounds. How good it would feel to shed his cloaks at the door and twine his fingers with work-calloused ones in turn...
"I am glad you were able to find each other here, then. That you are not alone, even if you couldn't come through together," he said quietly, sincerely, as a poise settled over him, grounding and centering the white-haired bard even in the midst of the uncertainty and chaos of their position as not-quite-rescuers and unwelcome guests - and uneasy allies.
But 'perhaps' did not change the past, nor what had been broken. Deimos had deigned to speak to him without rancor, had gifted him a basket woven of magic and dreams, offered peace... but it was too soon to push for more than that, if it ever would be time for it. Jigano had let his relief at their friends' safety blind his instincts and lead to an uncharacteristic optimism that things were not as bad as they had initially seemed.
Or rather, that they were better than they had been, but tempers and the words spoken from them could not be moved past so easily. Still, the bard made a final try, one last attempt to draw the terse warrior into friendlier conversation. A few more words, a laugh that may or may not held humor, or something darker, and the bard tilted his head curiously at the big man... but Deimos went silent again, hoarding words and memories both, and Jigano stifled a sigh. No questions in turn, and little enough information given for free. The conversation was a burden that was swiftly losing its appeal as he looked out over the Sidhe Village - above them, around them, Fae walking or gliding or flying on errands, studiously ignoring the two oversized foreigners, or glaring at them from a distance.
He was not used to feeling so unwelcome. Not without having done something to earn it, first, at least, and since the fall of the would-be Iron God and his followers and... others... he had not experienced such outright hatred from an entire village.
He was, however, used to feeling alone in a crowd, the sensation a familiar cloak that he settled back into even as he tilted his head back to the morning sunshine, feeling the tug of home pulling his heart back towards the Hollowed Grounds. How good it would feel to shed his cloaks at the door and twine his fingers with work-calloused ones in turn...
"I am glad you were able to find each other here, then. That you are not alone, even if you couldn't come through together," he said quietly, sincerely, as a poise settled over him, grounding and centering the white-haired bard even in the midst of the uncertainty and chaos of their position as not-quite-rescuers and unwelcome guests - and uneasy allies.
