[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos Deimos hoped the river’s movement, the gentle lull of the sweeping waves, managed to swallow the sound of his laughter at her first exclamation, the top of his head poking above the rock, hoping to see her expression, meet her eyes, gaze to gaze, mischief to mischief, and continue in the persistence of anarchy, silliness, and merriment. Having had so little of it before, he intended to make it up in every possible way, his manifestations and machinations tolerated, juvenile and ridiculous though they were, his blood singed with the rebellion, with the insurgency, yearning, longing, for her to continue in the volley. But the game failed to go his way; he narrowed his eyes in the briefest bout of suspicion, in the pretense of her exaggerated movements, as she failed to reprimand, coax, cajole, or even extend the slightest glance. Boyishly, insolently, he wanted to huff and pout, dismayed she didn’t give chase, didn’t prolong the nature of their play, fanning him off and away without the slightest glance. His brows furrowed in a singular slant, then he disappeared behind the boulder again, striving to come up with another plot, another onslaught, when she didn’t yield to this one. He inched closer to the river’s bank again, intending to plot his next scheme and ruse, pooling more water in his hands, and bringing it to his features, washing over the traces of the day, the cooling fixtures pulsing down his skin in a relaxing, tranquil embodiment – And then suddenly there was so much more, and he was doused, soaked, cascaded, and drowned against in a vicious onslaught of water rampaging over his form. His mouth loosened a gasp from his mouth without warning, harsh and indignant, as a whale tail came into his sights, a starlit giggle pulsing from its motions. Ah, they’d worked together, in tandem, in those silent bonds, left him wide open to the slaughter, to the wickedness he’d started and they’d ultimately finished. He waved a finger at Jyoti, but laughed just the same, even as the cool, chilling depths rolled down the length of his form, clung to the fabric, rippled and revealed the undulating muscles coiled and contorted beneath – the cold suited him just fine, even if just in the haze of memories, the reflections of another time and place. The Reaper clambered over the rock now though, wasting no time, climbing and standing until he towered above her, the damned monolith, the unholy wake, intentionally leaning out over her frame as a shadow, dripping water from head to toe, intending for most of it to land upon her. “Two against one,” he muttered, shaking his head and arching his brow, a snicker, a smirk extended over his mouth despite the gravel and growl in his throat. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime