DEIMOS
By the time Amalia has responded to his summons, his provocations, his kindled, incensed motions, the beast has already drawn his wild hair back into a bun, out of reach, and sorted out the various states of weaponry. They resemble an outline, a pattern, much like the ones kept in his home, ranging in size and shape, in order and function, but all every bit as deadly. The wooden training swords were first, plain but simple, necessities when one was at the genesis of their trials, and the others meandered on sanctions of daggers with ornate hilts, broadswords, a rapier, and then odds and ends: throwing knives, tinier stilettos, and one of his hatchets he used for cutting. He admired them for a moment, studying a couple of their edges, feeling the fringe of being watched from a distance, Zuriel in the background somewhere, likely presuming he was about to enter into another fray.
She wasn’t entirely mistaken – but this one held a glean of solidarity, camaraderie, and affection, unlikely symbols of most foreboding duels and challenges.
The baker had come for battle, soft footfalls and appearances only given away by Jyoti’s indulgent songs, the Reaper raising his head and disembarking from his crouch amidst the munitions as she approached. The starwhale reached him first, constellations and cosmos circling around his head, and he didn’t hide his smile, even as his gaze rounded away from the arching companion and down towards Amalia, riveted again. The depths of his stare caught the staff in her hands, slightly bemused that he had nothing to match it – but before he could consider channeling one between his fingers in a gilded glow, she’d pressed her lips to his. “Morning,” he rumbled in return, phantoms and wraiths between mouths, amusement flickering off billowing breaths; if he invoked and incensed, he figured they’d never actually start training, distracted and fettered into other things. Today’s efforts were already sketched and laden – this was his realm now, hallowed halls of victory and violence, of vehemence and action, of discord and upheaval, of insurrection and bleeding, mutinous schemes.
Not to be outdone in the arrays of mischief, he stepped back, allowing her to view the armory he’d brought. It wasn’t everything – most still remained on display or clustered in various drawers, closets, and empty floorboards within his domicile – but certainly enough to dive into the purpose of their date. “Depends on your preference,” and a nod of his head indicated she’d be allotted free choice, or if she wanted to keep her staff, already comfortable with its weight and feel.
She wasn’t entirely mistaken – but this one held a glean of solidarity, camaraderie, and affection, unlikely symbols of most foreboding duels and challenges.
The baker had come for battle, soft footfalls and appearances only given away by Jyoti’s indulgent songs, the Reaper raising his head and disembarking from his crouch amidst the munitions as she approached. The starwhale reached him first, constellations and cosmos circling around his head, and he didn’t hide his smile, even as his gaze rounded away from the arching companion and down towards Amalia, riveted again. The depths of his stare caught the staff in her hands, slightly bemused that he had nothing to match it – but before he could consider channeling one between his fingers in a gilded glow, she’d pressed her lips to his. “Morning,” he rumbled in return, phantoms and wraiths between mouths, amusement flickering off billowing breaths; if he invoked and incensed, he figured they’d never actually start training, distracted and fettered into other things. Today’s efforts were already sketched and laden – this was his realm now, hallowed halls of victory and violence, of vehemence and action, of discord and upheaval, of insurrection and bleeding, mutinous schemes.
Not to be outdone in the arrays of mischief, he stepped back, allowing her to view the armory he’d brought. It wasn’t everything – most still remained on display or clustered in various drawers, closets, and empty floorboards within his domicile – but certainly enough to dive into the purpose of their date. “Depends on your preference,” and a nod of his head indicated she’d be allotted free choice, or if she wanted to keep her staff, already comfortable with its weight and feel.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
