DEIMOS
For all the motions and ruminations scattered amongst the room, he said little at all; the eldritch incantations of previous exploits hovering and harpooning, circumventing anything else. The notions of what if kept scratching at his enamel, tiny claw marks against the walls of his chest, of his ribs, of his lacquer, pressing inward on a once-savage, belligerent heart. What if she hadn’t survived? What if she’d been left out in the cold, in the dark, like Cera? The first was an alarming beacon, settling amongst rage and rebellion, a cutthroat insurrection deep in the riotous din of his prowess, of his potential, when everything fell apart. The second would’ve scalded too – and while he shook his head, irritated his notions had twisted down into those brewing, soulless schisms (not here, later, as if he could freeze moments, as if he could keep barreling onward and pretend they didn’t exist), they still remained. In the background, in the haze, in the burning, searing notions that at some point, somewhere, maybe enough wouldn’t be enough, and he’d be facing portions of monumental loss again. His gaze flickered downward, even though she couldn’t see, even though she couldn’t sense, the clenching of his jaw, the choking, drowning intervals threatening to consume; potentially devoured by the irreverent pieces of life – that they would have to end.
The General maneuvered back, footfalls on the floor placed with a heavier step, so she could hear, so she would know his location, before sitting back down in the chair. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, listening, half-smiling because it was either that or fetter away. The beast wouldn’t allow the demons to snag and tear at him today.
Even at her humor though, he exhaled on a sigh, before the gilded glow of his hands returned. Between them twisted enchantments and fabric, woven like canvas and tapestries, the backdrop a deep, dark blue, like the evening sky right after the sun fell back into its hearth, a pressing of twilight endeavors and star exploits. Laden within were snowflakes, of varying shapes and sizes, designs orchestrated so no single one was the same, but somewhere in their midst was an emblem of little flames, for Kiada the firebrand, and a lithe contortion of fireworks nestled in amongst cloaks and daggers. Even if she wouldn’t be able to see it, not until much, much later, they were still imbedded and emblazoned, power, precision, might, and reminders of years where they were the irreverent, and the rest of the world nothing in their presence.
“A bandana,” he noted into the air, before rising again, stretching out his long arms to gently press the cloth over her eyes, and tie it around her head. Then the mountain leaned back, sighing again, somewhat irritated all the more that she should have to hide beneath veils and shrouds. But he’d offered, and she’d taken it, and perhaps it wouldn’t be for long.
The General maneuvered back, footfalls on the floor placed with a heavier step, so she could hear, so she would know his location, before sitting back down in the chair. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, listening, half-smiling because it was either that or fetter away. The beast wouldn’t allow the demons to snag and tear at him today.
Even at her humor though, he exhaled on a sigh, before the gilded glow of his hands returned. Between them twisted enchantments and fabric, woven like canvas and tapestries, the backdrop a deep, dark blue, like the evening sky right after the sun fell back into its hearth, a pressing of twilight endeavors and star exploits. Laden within were snowflakes, of varying shapes and sizes, designs orchestrated so no single one was the same, but somewhere in their midst was an emblem of little flames, for Kiada the firebrand, and a lithe contortion of fireworks nestled in amongst cloaks and daggers. Even if she wouldn’t be able to see it, not until much, much later, they were still imbedded and emblazoned, power, precision, might, and reminders of years where they were the irreverent, and the rest of the world nothing in their presence.
“A bandana,” he noted into the air, before rising again, stretching out his long arms to gently press the cloth over her eyes, and tie it around her head. Then the mountain leaned back, sighing again, somewhat irritated all the more that she should have to hide beneath veils and shrouds. But he’d offered, and she’d taken it, and perhaps it wouldn’t be for long.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
