DEIMOS
There was more bite, more malice, more menace to her voice now – and Deimos remained indifferent in the face of her rage, despite the notion that he’d purposefully instigated it. He did pause for a moment before continuing on in his quest to irritate and exasperate, to unfold some branch of normalcy between sickened sojourns and failing in the things that mattered the most, if this was some blight melodrama, or regular Kiada melodrama. He absorbed her huff, her sneers, the snap and click of her jaws with an arched brow and folded arms across his chest; almost on a damned, provoking dare, straight back into juvenile tendencies and rampant immaturity when it was required (as if he’d never quite left the boyish predilections behind, just stuffed them aside when bearing down on enemies and opponents). His head tilted, a predator, carnivore’s stare, narrowing his eyes, watching, waiting, for some snatch of claws, missing those days where they could all merely throw flour upon one another and call it festivities, normal, amusing, diverting, not stuck in some wallowing chambers ready to carve one another’s eyes out. Amalia attempted to ease the kindling and stoking of a fire that he’d readily built for himself and the Harpy, and while the latter glared daggers at him, he shifted into a rogue smile reserved for being monstrously petty. Before he had an opportunity to explain the meaning of their wedding tradition, and by the memories of the last one in Caido, not something they utilized, Kiada had already done the job. He slid into a chair instead of saying anything, pondering if he should be rooted in the bitter nuances now too, at the mention of Rexanna’s other wedding – where she’d left the Basin, the mountains, the peaks, for some ridiculous Elephant King. “I was not invited to that one.” He might’ve been dead by that time though – or rancorous, acerbic, would have refused the invitation on spite alone. The monolith shrugged, grabbing a plate and a sandwich, yielding to appetite with a grateful nod towards the baker, waiting for something else to unfold.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
