we're all killers
The Reaper couldn’t judge too harshly: he, who has crept demise into those not ready for their final breath, who has thrust swords into hearts, who has craved, who has rebelled, who has mutinied in the heart of his own lands. He was too savage to ever criticize another’s nefariousness, the motives and methods they indulged within to survive, because he had done worse, worse, worse, an instrumental tool and weapon for years, seasons, and cycles. The only assessments he’d ever utilized, wielded, or molded upon another usually lingered along his friends, his allies, his comrades – if something threatened them, if someone brutalized them, if someone lied, manipulated, or ensnared them. Here, in the threshold of his home, and before icy walls, lingering along sullen, detached kingdoms, with their rime, with their brutality, with their declarations of war stained upon their tongues, he wouldn’t begrudge her anything. Rexanna had found what she required, and whether or not it came back to haunt her would come to fruition – but not today, not now, not in these seconds, and certainly not from him.
He took another swig, refilled, shifted slightly back to rivet his gaze on her again; arching his brow only lightly as she remarked upon Bastien. The glimpses he’d seen of him had glistened an intriguing, interesting character, not one that he presumed Rexanna would fall for. But – anything had to be better than the ones she’d left behind. “As long as you are happy,” the warrior rumbled, the edges of his smile beneath the ghosts of the past; the ridiculous fools she’d managed to traipse around.
Then there was Zuriel – dark gray, like chiseled stone, as if she’d come straight out of the Aurora Basin too, with its caverns, complexities, and pride. Her blue eyes riveted solely on Rexanna, her movements closer and cautious, an extension of her maw pressing near the Ascended’s cheek. Trust? She asked through their bond, perhaps asking if she should, because he did. Yes, he answered in their silent threads, and the mare twisted, tilting her noble crown a fraction, billowing air across Rexanna’s skin simply to see how she would react. “Zuriel,” Deimos presided, nursing his drink once more, his hand sweeping in gesture to the unicorn’s presence. Where to even begin? “It is…lengthy.” And she knew how much he hated, detested, copious amounts of discourse and dialogue; fumbling through it anyway, never consigned to be a master storyteller or orator. “I was coming out of the Spire, during our botched mission, to try and summon Safrin. To help the rest of them.” He attempted not to lance it with bitter overtures, but they were there anyway, a rancorous fact stuck like thorns and nettles. “When I was finished, I thought to return to the Spire. Kiada was there,” and he let that thought linger, just a little longer than necessary: “and would not allow me to go. It did not matter anyway, because then there was a unicorn being chased by an infant landshark before us.” If the tale sounded bizarre, it was because the entire situation had been; and though he’d been poisoned, exhausted, and fatigued, it’d still been all the more real, tangible as them. “I attacked it, hoping to save the unicorn – and nearly lost my arm. The landshark died, and she decided to be my companion.” He paused, pondering if there was anything else he was forgetting – an arch to Zuriel’s brow indicated he had. “She can heal.”
He took another swig, refilled, shifted slightly back to rivet his gaze on her again; arching his brow only lightly as she remarked upon Bastien. The glimpses he’d seen of him had glistened an intriguing, interesting character, not one that he presumed Rexanna would fall for. But – anything had to be better than the ones she’d left behind. “As long as you are happy,” the warrior rumbled, the edges of his smile beneath the ghosts of the past; the ridiculous fools she’d managed to traipse around.
Then there was Zuriel – dark gray, like chiseled stone, as if she’d come straight out of the Aurora Basin too, with its caverns, complexities, and pride. Her blue eyes riveted solely on Rexanna, her movements closer and cautious, an extension of her maw pressing near the Ascended’s cheek. Trust? She asked through their bond, perhaps asking if she should, because he did. Yes, he answered in their silent threads, and the mare twisted, tilting her noble crown a fraction, billowing air across Rexanna’s skin simply to see how she would react. “Zuriel,” Deimos presided, nursing his drink once more, his hand sweeping in gesture to the unicorn’s presence. Where to even begin? “It is…lengthy.” And she knew how much he hated, detested, copious amounts of discourse and dialogue; fumbling through it anyway, never consigned to be a master storyteller or orator. “I was coming out of the Spire, during our botched mission, to try and summon Safrin. To help the rest of them.” He attempted not to lance it with bitter overtures, but they were there anyway, a rancorous fact stuck like thorns and nettles. “When I was finished, I thought to return to the Spire. Kiada was there,” and he let that thought linger, just a little longer than necessary: “and would not allow me to go. It did not matter anyway, because then there was a unicorn being chased by an infant landshark before us.” If the tale sounded bizarre, it was because the entire situation had been; and though he’d been poisoned, exhausted, and fatigued, it’d still been all the more real, tangible as them. “I attacked it, hoping to save the unicorn – and nearly lost my arm. The landshark died, and she decided to be my companion.” He paused, pondering if there was anything else he was forgetting – an arch to Zuriel’s brow indicated he had. “She can heal.”
DEIMOS
