to take arms against a sea of troubles

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame It was interesting to witness how they circled back around to silence, how she picked and chose what she wanted to listen upon or give out; waiting for anything acknowledged about the manacles but to have the subject ghosted away, only pressing Arduinna’s name into the forefront. The Reaper’s mind was too full of too many others to worry needlessly on Arduinna’s eventual favor exchange; he’d contemplate more on it when the rest of the world wasn’t falling down, when he was barely keeping to the surface of the fathoms tightening around them. Then nothing but nods; his brow arching only slightly, giving away naught in particular either. They’ve always played their parts well, the rarely-indulgent, nonchalant beasts, capable of wielding weapons but not tongues or discourse, saving it for other times, other measures, when their blades couldn’t do the talking. He didn’t wind his way into Wessex’s scoff or attempt at joking; he thought it was mostly mired in the truth of her predilections. Though the Reaper had his own bones to pick with the Loreseeker, he wasn’t about to impart those predilections here and now; reserved for moments out of the basement, without others ears pressed to the floors. The beast did tilt his head at her reaction though – perhaps the woman had become irked at the lengths of speech Jigano often entailed, or the meeting prior, full of petty squabbles and skirmishes had simply drawn her away from ivory and sagacity. He didn’t pry any further into the mess, had no intention of drumming up past motions and maneuvers, everything done, completed, fallen back along the wayside as more and more and more events continued cropping up. “He did not join the enlisted.” Perhaps he had his own reasons for the sedition; Deimos had not chosen to rebel then and there – a military motion was easy, descending straight back into something he was comfortable within. His insurrection was deeper, greater, than being incapable of wielding his pen across a page. Then he prodded a little, seeing how much she’d be willing to give away. “What were you doing with the Fae?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace