Deimos
The Sword wasn’t certain when wedding planning had come into his repertoire, or clamored as a diversion from every other thing riddling him, the land, and the world. But Rexanna had asked, had implored, and he’d already had a hand in the ministrations and machinations, courtesy of Remi and Ronin’s nuptials, and held no means of denial or rejection at the notions. His hands could do more than just devastate with a weapon – calloused as they were, creation was also in the forefront of their digits and palms, capable of concocting and conducting whatever his friend required.
So he obliged, maneuvering into Rexanna’s domicile with little rue or regret, arching his brow as he saw Loren linger along the threshold too – not expecting his presence. “Loren,” he proffered as a form of greeting, before maneuvering his gaze Remi, fellow crafters and creators in the midst - granting him a head nod, "Remi,", eyeing the wine and trying to stifle a round of laughter at the obvious Bastien impression. Then his stare swept to the Penumbra, likely to eclipse them all. “Rexanna,” he rumbled, the depths of a smile threatening to wrap along his mouth. This was supposed to be a content affair; void of his trials, tribulations, and despair. He could save the anguish for another occasion (was she aware of Kiada’s condition? The notion lurked at the back of his mind, but refused to assemble in this congregation). “What do you need done?” The beast wasn’t certain of any Ascended wedding traditions, and frankly, had only recently learned of Naturals’ dispositions and rituals towards unions, presuming some portion of the latter would be altered, transformed, into whatever they required.
So he obliged, maneuvering into Rexanna’s domicile with little rue or regret, arching his brow as he saw Loren linger along the threshold too – not expecting his presence. “Loren,” he proffered as a form of greeting, before maneuvering his gaze Remi, fellow crafters and creators in the midst - granting him a head nod, "Remi,", eyeing the wine and trying to stifle a round of laughter at the obvious Bastien impression. Then his stare swept to the Penumbra, likely to eclipse them all. “Rexanna,” he rumbled, the depths of a smile threatening to wrap along his mouth. This was supposed to be a content affair; void of his trials, tribulations, and despair. He could save the anguish for another occasion (was she aware of Kiada’s condition? The notion lurked at the back of his mind, but refused to assemble in this congregation). “What do you need done?” The beast wasn’t certain of any Ascended wedding traditions, and frankly, had only recently learned of Naturals’ dispositions and rituals towards unions, presuming some portion of the latter would be altered, transformed, into whatever they required.
i rule the stars, not the other way around
