DEIMOS
It didn’t take long for the vitriol to thicken, toxins dripping between those who should’ve been considered compatriots. He looked back and forth to those involved: Remi and Jigano at first, some insisting on power grabs and things Deimos wasn’t aware of, causing him to raise both brows, Bastien’s dramatic intonations clamoring opinions upon the rise of Zariah’s power – no voting required, apparently, bringing up possibilities of their own leaders. It was authority the Reaper truly bristled against, reveling in more of his own dominion, control, and precision; he’d been part of crusades and sojourns marched and marked, etched and sketched, by those who claimed complete authority, kings and queens, sovereigns and monarchs, who revered wrecking balls and wreaking havoc without a clear plan in the munitions – parts of a play and failed sieges. Something in his blood boiled, seethed, and gnashed, memories and recollections of a time where he had nothing at all – following, following, following down rabbit holes and assault lines, then burying his friends where they’d fallen.
Kiada was a welcome sight, and he breathed a little easier at her appearance, Auni bounding to his side, her vulture descent a bolder, more intrepid tidings. He flashed her a wicked gaze – a roar, a fury, a ferocity of years past, when they’d been audacious, proud things, tearing down walls and promising vengeance. Is that what they’d be now too – demonstrative beasts with vicious claws, vehement, persistent animals carving and aligning their abhorrence with others? He nodded his head at her notion of action, his preferred flavor and flame of eloquence, but how? When? What?
Ronin came to Remi’s aid thereafter, mentioning grievances sent to the newfound queen, pondering if that’s where they should’ve started, voicing their opinions to this Zariah – and then Amalia entered, and he had to take a step back simply to watch her ignite (immensely proud, amused), clawing and ripping apart the notice, as if it were nothing, as if it were dust.
If only it was that easy.
He had flashbacks to the hill by the Spire, the evening where portions of them crashed down, died, and exploded, some of the same individuals involved searing and seething. Would that happen again – come to naught after all – because their rage was too raw, because their vexation was too high, because pride always came before the fall? As Edrei moved in, set to igniteAmalia straight into flames, the Reaper stepped to the baker’s side, awaiting some passing moment to either defend or assault; taut, rigid, pondering how they were supposed to get anything accomplished when they couldn’t even talk civilly ever. Why the hell was he even believing he could anoint peace and repose? It hadn’t gone well before. No one had listened. No one had cared. No one had given a damn.
Wessex arrived – aiming to douse the flames. He could follow suit. “We can bring our opinions to her.” Zariah. The fight was too soon here – no preparation, no calculations, nothing except vehemence and contempt, rage and rancor.
Kiada was a welcome sight, and he breathed a little easier at her appearance, Auni bounding to his side, her vulture descent a bolder, more intrepid tidings. He flashed her a wicked gaze – a roar, a fury, a ferocity of years past, when they’d been audacious, proud things, tearing down walls and promising vengeance. Is that what they’d be now too – demonstrative beasts with vicious claws, vehement, persistent animals carving and aligning their abhorrence with others? He nodded his head at her notion of action, his preferred flavor and flame of eloquence, but how? When? What?
Ronin came to Remi’s aid thereafter, mentioning grievances sent to the newfound queen, pondering if that’s where they should’ve started, voicing their opinions to this Zariah – and then Amalia entered, and he had to take a step back simply to watch her ignite (immensely proud, amused), clawing and ripping apart the notice, as if it were nothing, as if it were dust.
If only it was that easy.
He had flashbacks to the hill by the Spire, the evening where portions of them crashed down, died, and exploded, some of the same individuals involved searing and seething. Would that happen again – come to naught after all – because their rage was too raw, because their vexation was too high, because pride always came before the fall? As Edrei moved in, set to ignite
Wessex arrived – aiming to douse the flames. He could follow suit. “We can bring our opinions to her.” Zariah. The fight was too soon here – no preparation, no calculations, nothing except vehemence and contempt, rage and rancor.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
