DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
“Hello, Amalia,” he returned in a teasing snicker, grabbing hold of one of her baskets and bringing it inside, placing it on the table – half intending to rummage through it while her curious eyes, ears, and movements traced over the confines of his home. For however many times he’d managed to wander into the bakery, this is the first time anyone else had come within his confines. While it’s not a castle, not a mansion, nor anything remarkable, it was still his, a haven of sorts, but also the reclusive, detached threshold at the tail-end of the street. He was comfortable with her within its walls though, amidst the weaponry and sparse furnishings; everything that mattered tethered in the vehement chambers of his heart, in the Spartan inclinations of his home. The Reaper watched as she meandered, touching over the edges of blades, waiting for a reaction. He received a smile instead of a harsh retort or a worried glance, and it was enough to set him at ease, comfortable – even as words touched and scorched over the foreboding outlines of the impending army. Perhaps he could supply the barracks, or, on the arch of a brow, anything else. He made no mention of his latter thoughts, allowed it to sink into the muck and mire, into the floorboards, in front of the closed door. “You may take any, if you wish.” Deimos’ head nodded and inclined to any number of armaments and munitions flanking the walls, or the ones lingering beneath their cousins, waiting to be cleaned or utilized, tested for their appeal and measure. “Or I can make you one.” He shrugged, stare haphazardly going back to the baskets, curious, inquisitive, lingering amidst more juvenile intervals, hands yearning to dig in, until a question loomed in the air.
His smile was genuine, but crooning, humming, with a Cheshire outlook, cheeks dimpled. “Swimming and swordplay? What are you going to teach me?” It was an obvious ruse, because she’d already taught him a hundred different things that he’d never thought he’d learn. They went unsaid, but stayed, twisted and turned along the small fortification, with its blades and shields, with its knives and daggers; and none willing to strike. They were enticements and allures instead, hastened by the piercing depth of his gaze, the arch of his brow, before he altered the subject, fingers stretching, threatening, poised to plunder whatever items she’d transported. “What did you bring?”
Unite and spread the heart apart
