who we are and all that we're trying to be
Deimos had the ability to withhold a great degree of bewilderment, given enough time to apply his stoic, apathetic traces, but he blinked several times in surprise at Remi’s first statement. Being underestimated wasn’t typically something he was affixed to – strength wise anyway – and perhaps he’d done a number of ridiculous, ineffectual deeds since arriving here, mostly contrived amidst ignorance, striving to understand the vast, unknown quandaries of these lands. He still managed to learn something new every day, other modicums and surprises, intervals rooted in curiosity and value. In Helovia he’d been manipulative, deceptive, a subterfuge, a duplicitous tactician, and then, in other moments, merely a battering ram, chasing down ramparts and fortifications, beating down doors, swearing oaths and vows to render an adversary’s blood on the floor. He’d never bothered with gaining credit either; he’d always known exactly what he’d committed, even if the rest of the world didn’t.
So he arched his brow and snorted, shaking his head. “Perhaps I had not given any indication of cleverness before.” A ruse, an amusement, further self-deprecation to indicate he was neither nor offended, gratified to receive the compliment nonetheless, with the way his eyes flickered towards the floor, or on Amalia’s staff, hands pushing on its surface. At the notions of more mischief extended, there was only a mere indication of a sharpened grin lancing its way over the Sword’s mouth; could’ve been Cheshire, given more antics. “Might be wise.” Wessex wouldn’t suffer any fools gladly.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
