DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Oh, he’d known, deep, deep down immediately what she’d meant to do. In another time, in another place, he would have immediately forbid it – because when did baiting ever go off successfully? When didn’t it cause another trial, another tribulation? But he didn’t have that sort of power here, no command, no demand, nothing but a small, minute militia and a world of experience chiseled through his chest. She should’ve known better than to offer and extend the notions, the machinations, of this restless, taunting deliberation – the ruminations of amusement all gone, his features a blank canvas while he inwardly growled, while he scratched at the surface, claws longing to be unhinged, unfurled, incapable of doing much else but argue the same points again. “Unwise,” he managed to rumble along his throat, allowing the bare minimum of speech to escape. The frustration toiled over him, because he couldn’t fathom why they wouldn’t just stride forth with anything and everything they already had: more people, more powers, more condemnation in their skin – could his fire do anything? Could his life drain? Could anyone else’s considerations? Then again, how many were they willing to put in jeopardy, in peril? Kiada hadn’t even asked him to go. He hadn’t asked to join. Putting everything in place where he wasn’t wanted – watching her try to become independent, and falter, and stumble, and –“That is exactly what the monsters want.” For someone to go out of their way, lead them down shadowed roads, and decimate, contort, ravage, and savage until they had everything they required.
He didn’t want any of them destroyed. He didn’t want any of them murdered. He didn’t want any of them gone again.
They’d all lost enough.
He’d lost enough.
That strangled him too, like a noose, dragging over his senses. It made him far too cautious, more so than perhaps he’d ever been – the more family he gained, the more protective, the more stalwart, the more steadfast he’d become. He lowered his head to his hands as his arms splayed across his thighs, burdened suddenly with far too many things at once, shoulders heavy, eyes on the floor.
