remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
The General tried to imagine the notion of a gun; small, held in one hand, faster, louder, and more potent than a bow, utilizing bullets full of gunpowder, some incendiary device – brows furrowing. Perhaps more out of comfort than understanding, he still melded himself with favoritism towards those he held experience with, had seen utilized, had been made a weapon in the palm of his hands, had lacerated and brutalized men he considered adversaries and enemies. Still, the intrigue continued, due to the newness, the foreign nature of it all. “Can it shoot as far as a bow?” Was there a specific range? He’d seen particularly inclined archers pick off opponents and rivals from a lengthy distance – were these guns and bullets any better? “Or as accurate?” Should they have been imploring their creative methods into these munitions instead? His eyes glanced at the catapult, a certain fondness for its exploding, deadly endeavors etching its way into his chest; pushing all the thoughts aside for more target practice.Sunjata’s didn’t hit the mark either, and he muffled a softer ring of laughter simply by their bizarre, fizzled luck; misfortune or poor, misshapen aim. They scattered much the same as his had done, tempted to fizzle into the mark but merely skipping stones in front, and the beast shook his head, going to apply more of his rocks again. Once loaded, he maneuvered the catapult slightly forward, only a few inches, pondering if that had been the simple problem. Applying the notion, he tugged on the arm and sent them flying, unleashed; the rubble and debris finally spinning and volleying into where the target’s shoulder might be. Not as forceful, not as enduring, not as strong; more like a wound, a blemish, a bruise someone could recover from. Maybe if they pulled the arm back harder – his hands went tweaking on the wooden device, listening to the next set of inquiries while he worked.
His snicker was hidden by the device, his face pressed towards the panels and hinges. “Yes. That has always been one of her talents.” For as long as he’d known her, young and capricious, setting her sights on any amount of information she could acquire; enough to steal, enough to abduct, enough to unwind other kingdoms, all those sagacities, all those perilous wisdoms, all those duplicities meant to blind and pillage sovereignties not their own. Deimos couldn’t even hold the chuckle ricocheting from his chest at the last statement. If only the man had any idea what he was getting into. Hotaru was like a sister, family, bonded not by blood, but all the other trials, tribulations, wars, and sanctums they’d crawled and slithered their way through; ichor-stained and rapacious, lifelines and supports no matter how dastardly or wicked they’d become. He wouldn’t give off too many warnings; let her have her fun, her amusements.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
