[PQ] No admittance, except on party business

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Very rarely had Deimos composed or created something that moved anyone to tears – and his heart lurched a little in his chest, either confused, befuddled, or something else entirely, as Remi reacted to the ring boxes. But he was content, pleased, that they’d been enough, that they were worthy of the upcoming nuptials, that he hadn’t ruined or marred their outlook, that he’d concocted it all correctly for a change, instead of leaving rubble and ruin in his wake. “You are very welcome,” he started, handing over the constellation hues and the beams of light, but didn’t expect Remi to go rummaging through drawers. He tilted his head, scrutinizing, curiosity getting the better of him, glancing sideways at Amalia, before the alchemist pulled out a satchel. For him. The Reaper wasn’t a stranger to gifts – the baker and he exchanged them – but outside of those who held his devotion and affection, they’d been a rarity at best. The soldier had loomed tall and proud, unattainable and unreachable for too long, and though he had never had it all, the world didn’t press their efforts, their appeasements, their warmth on him either. Remi’s offer completely surprised the heathen, extending his hands out to feel the material, his turn to stammer, to meander along in silence. Stunned and moved, his gaze didn’t know where to go, as he lightly took the bag, hold anything you place inside a hundred times over beating against his brain; machinations toiling away while he was overcome. “Thank you – I doubt I am worthy of such a gift,” because he wasn’t, never had been, never would be, but it was like a beatific grace in his grasp. “I will put it to good use.” He bowed his head, and then didn’t know what else to say, what else to convey. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace