DEIMOS
The enigmas and quandaries continued amidst the despair, the melancholy, and everything else laid between. He wasn’t used to her being the one caught in traps, snares, and webs; only the ones she’d spun herself, on duplicitous perimeters and Thief calculations. He was usually the one on the frontlines, marred, injured, blemished, scarred again and again, taking each line upon his frame as an outlier of protection and destruction. They were emblems and banners, flags of brutality along waves of less-scalded flesh; tales of survival. Was that were hers would become, eventually, when the weight of it all crumbled off of shoulders, when she’d met her Goddess and had everything set to rights? He considered the notions from the fire’s expanse, the curls and coils of flickering light, the potential bounty and prowess simmering in his hands. I don’t know reeled in their sanction, and he couldn’t contemplate the reaches either, leaving it to spin and spurn into silence.
He glanced back over his shoulder to watch her angle her head downwards, distorted contemplations of another kind, and he had no idea over what to do or what to say, his efforts always circling over action, action, action, motive, motive, motive, rinse and repeat gestures of either defense, protection, or vehemence. With the upheaval slightly altered, changed by expanse of healing and mending, he had difficulty regarding his place, stood tall and broad in the proximity of her existence, willing to lend his assistance, his helping hands, if given suitable direction. Her inquiry threw him off though, tilting his head to study, to examine, arching a brow she couldn’t see, lips twisting into a small smile; pondering if the subject matter was based in a sensation of vanity, or merely because she couldn’t ascertain the expression of emptiness, what the absence of eyes did to another’s appearance. But the monolith didn’t look away. “Different,” was all he supplied, a quiet chuckle ricocheting off of bones and brawn, off of chest and lungs. “I can make you something.” Eye-patches or bandanas, if it truly bothered her.
He glanced back over his shoulder to watch her angle her head downwards, distorted contemplations of another kind, and he had no idea over what to do or what to say, his efforts always circling over action, action, action, motive, motive, motive, rinse and repeat gestures of either defense, protection, or vehemence. With the upheaval slightly altered, changed by expanse of healing and mending, he had difficulty regarding his place, stood tall and broad in the proximity of her existence, willing to lend his assistance, his helping hands, if given suitable direction. Her inquiry threw him off though, tilting his head to study, to examine, arching a brow she couldn’t see, lips twisting into a small smile; pondering if the subject matter was based in a sensation of vanity, or merely because she couldn’t ascertain the expression of emptiness, what the absence of eyes did to another’s appearance. But the monolith didn’t look away. “Different,” was all he supplied, a quiet chuckle ricocheting off of bones and brawn, off of chest and lungs. “I can make you something.” Eye-patches or bandanas, if it truly bothered her.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
