Their hands connect, clasp, callous to callous. There is a firmness there, unyielding, unbowed. Cera respects it deeply. Can't help the brilliantly sunny smile that radiates upon his face at the two simple words the Reaper deigns to deliver unto him. It is a kind of praise he is not used to, but one that seems to warm him from head to toe instantaneously. It reminds him of days at Gaucho's side, beneath his wing and his loving gaze, the words of faith and support he would grumble into his ears. Pain swells in his breast at the memories, but they do not dim the joy he feels at connection. They are one and the same here. Displaced, forgotten, starting anew in this foreign land.
Still he can't help but grin impishly at the twitch of emotion on Deimos' face at the mention of Midas. "You're as unenthusiastic as I am, if I recall his ridiculous antics towards the Basin correctly." Antics was the kindest word he could offer. Cera's smile turns easily into a grimace, the good memories so heavily overshadowed by the bad. "Gaucho was more father to me than him, but I'd not want to steal that honor from his children. I was unsure if you would have known me by name otherwise," It's all that needs to be said, and probably more than the man had wanted to know in the first place, so the Prince skates by it without giving it any further time to turn stagnant between them, focusing instead on the last words that lift from his tongue. He's not so prideful as to assume his title ever meant anything to those beyond the sands.
"Well now you're just encouraging me to use it," Cera chirps innocently at the sight of Deimos' minute smile, but the grin on his face is all but pure. Not that he will actually go through with the teasing threat he wields at the Reaper. Reminding the man of his former glory and status may not do him any favors emotionally, and Cera is loathe to cause pain to any other living being. Deer notwithstanding of course, he muses with a glance down at the dead animal as they resume their previous plodding pace.
The idea of further forms is daunting to say the least, but the man's faith in him is solid. A comforting weight that again reminds him of the Wildfire. Perhaps next time he will be granted the ability to fly once more. It is all he can hope to hold out for, if only he gets to touch the sky once more. "What about you? What attribute found its way to you when you came here?" Calling it a race still felt odd to Cera, who was used to plain physical differences. Here, they all just seemed...human. A togetherness he'd never anticipated. But of course the decay of mortal souls would always taint what it touched, and so the prejudice remained.
Still he can't help but grin impishly at the twitch of emotion on Deimos' face at the mention of Midas. "You're as unenthusiastic as I am, if I recall his ridiculous antics towards the Basin correctly." Antics was the kindest word he could offer. Cera's smile turns easily into a grimace, the good memories so heavily overshadowed by the bad. "Gaucho was more father to me than him, but I'd not want to steal that honor from his children. I was unsure if you would have known me by name otherwise," It's all that needs to be said, and probably more than the man had wanted to know in the first place, so the Prince skates by it without giving it any further time to turn stagnant between them, focusing instead on the last words that lift from his tongue. He's not so prideful as to assume his title ever meant anything to those beyond the sands.
"Well now you're just encouraging me to use it," Cera chirps innocently at the sight of Deimos' minute smile, but the grin on his face is all but pure. Not that he will actually go through with the teasing threat he wields at the Reaper. Reminding the man of his former glory and status may not do him any favors emotionally, and Cera is loathe to cause pain to any other living being. Deer notwithstanding of course, he muses with a glance down at the dead animal as they resume their previous plodding pace.
The idea of further forms is daunting to say the least, but the man's faith in him is solid. A comforting weight that again reminds him of the Wildfire. Perhaps next time he will be granted the ability to fly once more. It is all he can hope to hold out for, if only he gets to touch the sky once more. "What about you? What attribute found its way to you when you came here?" Calling it a race still felt odd to Cera, who was used to plain physical differences. Here, they all just seemed...human. A togetherness he'd never anticipated. But of course the decay of mortal souls would always taint what it touched, and so the prejudice remained.
Cera
The worst in me could bring out the best in you
