we're all killers
They were greedy and rapacious – and it was something he’d always known, down the back of his throat, in the enamel of his chest, in the brink of his breath, in the feral delusions of his aspirations. The Basin had been a battered, embittered group from the beginning, intending to avenge for everything that had been wronged and waged upon them – yearning to make the world fear their rebuttal and retribution. Perhaps for a time it worked. Maybe they were like gnats, annoying, irritating, the plague that refused to die off, returning with newfound pestilence at each new season. They’d been avaricious claws and ravenous, hungry beasts, laced and lanced with ventures, with expositions, with demonstrations of their might; and more often than not, it bit them in the backside, swatted against when they should’ve expected it. Blistered refugees and barbaric intricacies, intervals of the rancorous and bitter, and he’d willingly participated in the acts, gathering information, subverting tactics, fighting, protecting, and guarding, training new recruits for the future. The rest was about pilfering, nagging, gnawing; small, petulant, bratty conjectures, until they stepped too far and it was too late.
“Psyche ruled, though Mauja was in and out,” he shrugged, forgoing and forgetting traces of when the freckled beast had meandered within and tread lightly again, sometimes wandering for months at a time, leaving the DarkEmpress to pick up the pieces (with relish, with hate, with menace, with the scorched maliciousness they all fed off of). Sometimes the names and faces were unknown to him, once so familiar, and now so brutally gone, the legends and stories trickling away from him in separated lifetimes – hollowed and carved out, like he was missing bits and pieces.
He watched for her reaction – the pride of a Thief evident at his inclusion of Mirage’s capture, the way they must’ve all felt when they made a successful abduction, when they procured valuable trinkets, when they overheard important information. Then he witnessed it fall at his mention, at his shame, at his arrogance and stupidity and ineptitude, his brows furrowing, eyes falling, glancing at the figures still settled on the table, unmoving now. “For several weeks. They wanted a prisoner exchange.” His jaw clenched, pondering why he’d brought this up, why it mattered now; maybe to insinuate he was as stupid then as he was presently – desperate to become stronger, mightier, rattling at the cages. “But I did not want it to be so easy. I attempted to escape.” Lace - tied with Lace; an annoyance, an irritation, a guard with spider webs and beneficence, everything Deimos had hated, detested, in those untamed, savage, nefarious inclinations. “It did not matter. I could not manage it.” He sighed, toyed with the frosty summit figurine, maneuvering it back and forth between his fingers. “Psyche came and they brokered a deal – Mirage was safe in the Edge again and I was back in the Basin.” Like a fool; less General, more idiot.
“Psyche ruled, though Mauja was in and out,” he shrugged, forgoing and forgetting traces of when the freckled beast had meandered within and tread lightly again, sometimes wandering for months at a time, leaving the DarkEmpress to pick up the pieces (with relish, with hate, with menace, with the scorched maliciousness they all fed off of). Sometimes the names and faces were unknown to him, once so familiar, and now so brutally gone, the legends and stories trickling away from him in separated lifetimes – hollowed and carved out, like he was missing bits and pieces.
He watched for her reaction – the pride of a Thief evident at his inclusion of Mirage’s capture, the way they must’ve all felt when they made a successful abduction, when they procured valuable trinkets, when they overheard important information. Then he witnessed it fall at his mention, at his shame, at his arrogance and stupidity and ineptitude, his brows furrowing, eyes falling, glancing at the figures still settled on the table, unmoving now. “For several weeks. They wanted a prisoner exchange.” His jaw clenched, pondering why he’d brought this up, why it mattered now; maybe to insinuate he was as stupid then as he was presently – desperate to become stronger, mightier, rattling at the cages. “But I did not want it to be so easy. I attempted to escape.” Lace - tied with Lace; an annoyance, an irritation, a guard with spider webs and beneficence, everything Deimos had hated, detested, in those untamed, savage, nefarious inclinations. “It did not matter. I could not manage it.” He sighed, toyed with the frosty summit figurine, maneuvering it back and forth between his fingers. “Psyche came and they brokered a deal – Mirage was safe in the Edge again and I was back in the Basin.” Like a fool; less General, more idiot.
DEIMOS
