DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Her fabric ghosted over the rim of the tank, blackened, Stygian, like a veil, like a shroud, either furthering the quiet of the creature within, or tricking it until the infinite days weren’t any longer. “You are welcome,” the monolith said in return, continued gestures of faith, trust, and convictions hastening from his existence – those that were close gained his assistance in any and all matters, earned fortitude, and might. Thereafter she seemed to settle into the couch, and he was obliged to take a seat as well, listening, pondering over whatever schemes were concocting in her mind, while removing a blank canvas and some paintbrushes from a chair. Once he’d claimed the seat, his head pricked upwards, and though she couldn’t view or glance upon it, there was a certain semblance of dread crossing over his frame. Amalia’s opinion on the Ascended hadn’t heightened in recent events (nor had his, really), but Deimos’ credence went back to prior lives – faith and trust in Rexanna, in who she was, in her capabilities. He wasn’t truly certain what would come of the meeting – the baker eternally kind and benevolent, but the latest conversations with Wessex had blown apart some other affirmations. He narrowed his eyes at her smirk, then wondered if he should simply be more concerned about his own welfare in this charade. Hotaru had already teased and taunted, Kiada did so on a regular basis, and now Rexanna’s inclusion seemed to be another foreboding faction. The Sword had half a notion to snarl. “Sounds like you have everything in order.” And it was too bad that the entire events or actions had to happen at all.
