Deimos
Deimos, with his eternal knack for anarchy, sedition, upheaval, and other realms of chaos, had been well worn into the boundaries of trials and tribulations. His inclination towards actions, towards calculations, towards machinations, bent him along the fringes and boundaries, and soon into the thick of it; slowly, gradually, without notice until he was in Spires, until he was in the Greatwood, until he was plotting in furtive basements. As he became more immersed with people, with comrades, with friends, with allies, with loved ones, it slid along natural tendencies, stoking and refining a place for himself in either ridiculous antics or dangerous ones; proffering his strength, his power, his persistence in either outreach. It’d be the same for Hotaru, for anyone else settled in his heart and bones and memories, convictions permanently granted to those who’d earned their place there. Even with the threat, the Cheshire grin, the promise of predilection upon his being, upon his person, he laughed, doing naught as she poked and prodded, except snorting, chuckling, or rendering her with a what else is new arc to his brow. “Of course.” Maybe he would. Maybe she’d take them all down. Maybe he’d topple (again) well before she got to him. Maybe they would just keep advancing, advancing, advancing, growing and ascending, and the world eventually wouldn’t be able to catch them.
Once they were within, he quietly closed the door, eyes lifting briefly to Zuriel’s preferred spot by the hearth, the spring winds occasionally enough to warrant a lit fire, and the unicorn’s familiar form curled up before it – not even bothered or threatened to greet the blonde. A shrug and then naught more, rummaging and meandering further away from thresholds and along couches and chairs. “Want anything?” He didn’t expect the other words to come flowing out – gaze flickering back to her, brows furrowing slightly at Kiada being angry. Granted, he managed to purposefully sink into her ire about every other day out of amusement, but somehow he had a notion Hotaru hadn’t orchestrated the same events. “Cross? Why?”
The Sword could feel her stare settling on him, rooted with examination and scrutiny, as if searching for something. “I am fine,” which could warrant a whole assemblage of lies and pretenses, but he was doing better than most; her mentioning of connections causing only a singular choking swallow, pushing down the rest of the barbs and nettles as he’d always done – sufficient suppression. Only lost a few sounded far, far colder than what he’d deigned to mean – like days of the Reaper when discussing how many adversaries felled along the way. So he didn’t mention it, tucked the thorns away.
Once they were within, he quietly closed the door, eyes lifting briefly to Zuriel’s preferred spot by the hearth, the spring winds occasionally enough to warrant a lit fire, and the unicorn’s familiar form curled up before it – not even bothered or threatened to greet the blonde. A shrug and then naught more, rummaging and meandering further away from thresholds and along couches and chairs. “Want anything?” He didn’t expect the other words to come flowing out – gaze flickering back to her, brows furrowing slightly at Kiada being angry. Granted, he managed to purposefully sink into her ire about every other day out of amusement, but somehow he had a notion Hotaru hadn’t orchestrated the same events. “Cross? Why?”
The Sword could feel her stare settling on him, rooted with examination and scrutiny, as if searching for something. “I am fine,” which could warrant a whole assemblage of lies and pretenses, but he was doing better than most; her mentioning of connections causing only a singular choking swallow, pushing down the rest of the barbs and nettles as he’d always done – sufficient suppression. Only lost a few sounded far, far colder than what he’d deigned to mean – like days of the Reaper when discussing how many adversaries felled along the way. So he didn’t mention it, tucked the thorns away.
i rule the stars, not the other way around
