remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Hotaru was a force of nature – tempestuous and driven, and if given the right interludes, the right motivations, there truly wasn’t anything to stop her. He inclined an arch to his brow at Sunjata’s statement – perhaps the other man had already realized her abilities and capabilities in that regard, so he snorted but gave nothing else. Let Hotaru have the rest of her secrets, let her remain a mystery, let Sunjata dig himself into a deeper hole or find the conflagrations, the infernos, the lightning strikes enticing. Deimos distracted himself from any other response to the Valkyrie’s inclinations by maneuvering the catapult off the target range, pulling it along, the wheels churning across dirt and earth, until it was tucked off to the side, ready and able for anyone who deigned, wished, or yearned to use it. At Sunjata’s statement, he lifted his head, considered the rest of the expanse. “I could always create some equipment,” he shrugged; maybe it would inspire others to do the same, seeing nothing wrong with maintaining a physique honed for warfare, munitions, or anything else scattered in between. He’d preserved and sustained a warrior threshold just for those purposes, the same routines every morning outside his home, fit and composed for barbarity, for destruction, whenever it was ushered and beckoned forth. His eyes rested on the walls of the barracks, newly refurbished, pondering if he could simply put a bar there, enough for people to lift themselves, and then carry on with whatever was required. It would help to actually have more militia than just himself, Hotaru, and Loren, but that would come with time.
Rolling up his sleeves, intending to get back to work on more munitions for the armory, he hadn’t expected Sunjata’s inquiry; few invited him to drink, and a majority of the time he’d sunk into a chair beside Remi, lamenting over their losses, parading their successes, or going over plans. “Sure,” he shrugged and accepted. “I have a stash in the front room,” was added with the slightest of smiles – meandering back into the fold of the barracks and into the aforementioned space, presuming the other man would follow. He’d taken the liquor from his home on notions of planning munitions over drinks, like olden days, but there hadn’t been anyone, or any need, to participate, entertain, the thoughts. Ducking down behind several drawers, he opened the bottom portion of the cabinet, withdrawing the alcohol and two glasses, then maneuvered towards the table, and placing them down on the surface, folding up a few maps he’d been making.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
