Tristan reminded him of his fellow soldiers, back at war camps, boyish and eager, fervent and wild, and it slowly put the unreachable beast at ease; it was comfortable, rather than vexed or tortured. He could understand the ardency, and the savagery, beneath mischief and impishness; knew very well in the flaw of underestimating grins and well-wishers. He’d been one of them once – crowded around campfires, laughing and mocking friends, gathering tall tales and seeing how far each of them could stretch the fixtures, boasting about former glories, pretending they didn’t miss home. They’d lived for glory and died in reigns of terror, changed and altered, sculpted and shaped beyond repair, and it took Deimos a moment to remember where he was – not crushed into battlefields, not protecting an ally, not laying a friend down on his shield, but proffering assistance so he could gain access to a world he’d only recently left, a kingdom he could comprehend.
Remi appeared then too, and the soldier almost made some note about the shop nearby, but he could merely lift his eyes and see how it was coming along – from a quiet, keen, observational standpoint, it seemed fresher, more restored, from the outside. He presumed most of the termites and squirrels had vacated the scene, and he bobbed his head towards the alchemist with a slight smile sketched on one side of his mouth.
Then the motives and objectives fell into place, and the meticulous waves of his schemes emerged. Remi claimed the door and cleaning arrangements, and Tristan had gone for the overgrowth – leaving Deimos in a position of gathering materials to reinforce the forge and replace missing stones. This was fine – it didn’t require many calculations, just sheer brawn and muscle, strength and fortitude; and he accepted the duty with another firm, quick, nod, and set his gaze upon the underlying rubble.
His movements were light, quiet, despite his massive size; years spent hunting down enemies and adversaries had been engrained into his motions. There was no need for savagery or upheaval upon a measure of rocks and wood, but it was almost innate now, to maneuver as an intimidating faction – his stalking skills easily overcame the stones tucked along the outside of the shop. He grabbed ahold of a few harder, heavier rocks, carrying them steadily into the shop, then went outside again to snag several more. When he thought the amount was sufficient, he did the same as he’d done in Remi’s shop, plying the materials towards columns that required some aid in their cumbersome load, or piecing together waylaid holes, pressing the rocks into place until the sun no longer shown its way through. The cretin even thought ahead and attempted to bring in some more stones and bits of wood for the foretold bench – leaving them directly outside the door when he’d accomplished his current task.
{Deimos has gone about gathering rocks and wood to reinforce/replace stones in the forge. He also grabbed a few more for the bench.}
