Deimos
Remi’s jocular tone and insinuation of becoming some reputable wedding helper almost gave him claws of apprehension, like chills down his back, a frightening notion that he’d lost all intimidating factions, and he’d suddenly be the one everyone called and asked for to design and orchestrate nuptial conjectures and nuances. Some of the grimace might’ve yielded to his features, so disturbing and quasi-amusing that even the nonchalant Sword was incapable of masking the sentiments – not uttering a word, too haunted and horrified by the possibilities. The mouthed sorry didn’t help matters, and he nearly hung his head, wishing he could simply canvas the world in steel and iron again.
He probably shouldn’t have asked Lily – had known better from experiences with Kiada and Ronin that the blight had situated itself inside her, pouring through veins and tissues, a muffled sigh coiling its way through his chest as reality simmered and sunk in again. He couldn’t do anything for her either. The reign of uselessness remained steadily in effect, bordering on malicious as he found himself incapable of answers, of efforts leading to successful results. Even her rage bordered on the ridiculous, and he watched from his area as she fired fury out of naught, because blight seethed and she would in turn, his eyes narrowed briefly at her insinuations, lifting his head to watch Rexanna, to offer his services (even if they were meager in efforts of flowers – he’d likely bring back some weeds or dead, wilted brambles of some kind). The Penumbra had it handled though, straight back into Thief days, granting Lily another task.
The frown he’d held, the taut lines of detachment appearing again, only lingered briefly when Rexanna approached, surveying the boxes he’d created, a quiet consideration with bright adornments, a squeeze of his shoulder. His next task was mostly imparted upon the baker, and he lifted the corners of his mouth in steady amusement, before nodding and making his way out her home, and down the road to the bakery.
Amalia’s selfless intervals were made all the more apparent (and the Sword’s ineffectual methods shown clear as day, though he did mix several batters after getting in her way multiple times) as she applied herself to winter-themed designs on several different cakes, small, petite little squares he could carry back (after eating several, admonished for his efforts, and then being tempted to do it again). He arrived after several hours, a tray firmly tucked between calloused palms, setting the samples down on a table, several of each scheme and model still somehow available even after his taste-testing. One was neatly adorned in ivory frosting and silver-etched snowflakes, compliments of the season, the flavoring combined in vanilla and lavender. Another was red-velvet, matching accord of roses blooming along the sides and intertwining across the top, a third displaying marble cake with argent icing, delicately laced. The last was pure, death-by-chocolate, but neatly constructed with stars floating on the top, golden and speckled.
He probably shouldn’t have asked Lily – had known better from experiences with Kiada and Ronin that the blight had situated itself inside her, pouring through veins and tissues, a muffled sigh coiling its way through his chest as reality simmered and sunk in again. He couldn’t do anything for her either. The reign of uselessness remained steadily in effect, bordering on malicious as he found himself incapable of answers, of efforts leading to successful results. Even her rage bordered on the ridiculous, and he watched from his area as she fired fury out of naught, because blight seethed and she would in turn, his eyes narrowed briefly at her insinuations, lifting his head to watch Rexanna, to offer his services (even if they were meager in efforts of flowers – he’d likely bring back some weeds or dead, wilted brambles of some kind). The Penumbra had it handled though, straight back into Thief days, granting Lily another task.
The frown he’d held, the taut lines of detachment appearing again, only lingered briefly when Rexanna approached, surveying the boxes he’d created, a quiet consideration with bright adornments, a squeeze of his shoulder. His next task was mostly imparted upon the baker, and he lifted the corners of his mouth in steady amusement, before nodding and making his way out her home, and down the road to the bakery.
Amalia’s selfless intervals were made all the more apparent (and the Sword’s ineffectual methods shown clear as day, though he did mix several batters after getting in her way multiple times) as she applied herself to winter-themed designs on several different cakes, small, petite little squares he could carry back (after eating several, admonished for his efforts, and then being tempted to do it again). He arrived after several hours, a tray firmly tucked between calloused palms, setting the samples down on a table, several of each scheme and model still somehow available even after his taste-testing. One was neatly adorned in ivory frosting and silver-etched snowflakes, compliments of the season, the flavoring combined in vanilla and lavender. Another was red-velvet, matching accord of roses blooming along the sides and intertwining across the top, a third displaying marble cake with argent icing, delicately laced. The last was pure, death-by-chocolate, but neatly constructed with stars floating on the top, golden and speckled.
i rule the stars, not the other way around
