[PQ] Raise the Roost

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

Finally there was some action instead of ongoing trials or tribulations with a single tree; their efforts combined to access sleds and clamber along to where Jigano and Hotaru were waiting. He managed to not ignite a sheepish look on his face – but there was a point blank indication of exasperation pummeling through his senses, thrown directly to Hotaru (akin to a do not ask contortion, not wishing to relive the experience), before sighing and moving along. It could’ve gone better, but the inclinations had been accomplished, albeit in a bizarre, altered route. Which left the posts and structuring of the Perch itself. He gave no indication of any oddities mustered by Jigano, aware of his discomfort with shifting. The Sword didn’t have the same apprehension, but the feelings were still strange, still foreign, still new, and he didn’t bear shame towards any of them, only a remarkable outlook that they even managed to happen at all. Instead of giving any rise or explanation to it, he acted as if it hadn’t occurred at all, purposefully not drawing attention to anything peculiar. He listened, granting credence that perhaps this portion of the building would go better than the last, accepting the nod granted to him from age-old experiences, when they’d buried themselves into the walls of Amalia’s bakery. Back then, the Sword had believed they’d be proffering deliverance and liberation – presently, he could just tie the experience into this one, somehow becoming the master of seditious tunnels and rebellious digging. His eyes glanced back and forth from the support beams to the ground, pondering over the nature of how far they’d need to sink, how much ground would cover and hold. “It should be sufficient.” If not, they could always disentangle things and try again; he’d hold himself responsible for the measures. So while Loren took up shoveling snow away, that seemed to be replicating or replacing itself by the moment, Deimos grabbed hold of his shovel, indicating his means and measures for the moment. Strength and fortitude marked his capability, shoving the flattened blade into the frozen earth, twisting and turning until he began to break apart the glacial edges. Hardened and nearly solidified, it was tougher work than previously noted, but once he’d carved and etched a series of broken splinters and fissures of dirt, he presumed the difficulty would subside. His muscles undulated and rippled, content and compliant for the work, eager to be doing something other than fumbling around in the woods. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate