[seasonal event] wasted faith

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace Expectations were apparently going to be doused and torn apart today: no sooner had the fire burst from his palms, than did his eyes swing over to see a bright grin on Adam’s features, clapping, an enthusiastic form of approval. “Yes, but not uncomfortably.” Because it was a part of him, a figment of his soul and concoctions, the blood pooling and conspiring in the depths of his veins; and on a deeper level, perhaps a signature of his sire and everything else associated with worlds apart. Then he clenched his fist, and the cinders drew away entirely, back into his form, into his figure, to burst apart when necessary. The curiosity of the life drain made him only slightly apprehensive, expecting some other biting, tormenting thing. It’d been a part of him since he was born, a deeper level of his existence, a characterization as much as his clenched jaw or stoic features. “Not unless someone irritates me,” (or threatened one of his own; but perhaps this didn't need to be stated) came across on the fringes of a smug grin; partially teasing and taunting, intentionally striving to cause a reaction – provoking, goading, eyes meandering back to his basket then. Altered subjects brandished, away from enchantments and invocations, and he tilted his head minutely, gaze settling on the water too, muddled thoughts and machinations. Pet; ah, Peter – the other one uncomfortable in the midst of LongNight gatherings. He’d apparently gone the same route as Deimos in not being heavily approved of, just enough to warrant a new foundation to strength, but lacking in the kindness Accepted might have been granted. “The Old Gods do not look upon the Abandoned favorably.” A shrug to his shoulders; something he’d been told the moment he arrived, the primordial stories thick and polished with their myths of how the Voice had been amongst the magical, turned, and shifted upon them, rendering herself too high in their esteem, in procuring too much manifestation and power. It’d been an alteration from his previous worlds, where incantations were expected and accepted by every walk of life: running through their souls, their entities, passed on from generation to generation. He was a son of fire and water, descended from flames and waves; and had never been ashamed of it. Even now, no regrets, no rancor, no remorse. His asked opinion of Adam’s basket was surprising too, and his eyes roamed over the foundations, the fronds, the knots of grass, readily applied, formidable in its own right; hand-spun strength rather than Deimos’ contorted arrangements. “Proficient,” came on another ghost of a smile.

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ADAM

Was there such a thing as comfortable burning, Adam wondered, but didn't ask, suspecting it would be one of those 'you'd only understand if you had it too' things, like how he could now attest to the refreshing bliss of water sliding under your belly scales. "It's really cool, that you can do that." He offered, more genuine than usual; he was truly jealous of those that could use magic. Yes, it meant being cast aside by this place's Gods, but the aesthetics of it all...

Laughing at Deimo's comment about his Life Drain, Adam leaned forward with a cheeky grin. "So I can't be that bad, huh? Still got all my life right in me." He tapped his chest twice and winked before sitting back, glad he'd found a way to talk to the man without having to find out about that specific power first hand.

Possibly stupidly, he'd not yet connected the races of the people he spoke about and their experiences with Attuning. "I guess you're right...still, she must like you now if she made you an Attuned too, right?" He thought back to his conversation with Maea, how sad she'd seemed, how resigned, about being hated by the Old Gods with the exception of Ludo. He wasn't sure how you qualified to be taken into their arms and Attuned, but he hoped her time was coming.

The appraisal of his basket was short but positive enough from Deimos. Adam grinned and spun it on one finger before placing it down next to it's competitor. "So...did I win the bet?"

A wasted youth is better by far

Then a wise and productive old age

Base Code by Sky!

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace He waited for something: a veiled insult perhaps, given Adam’s knack for jokes and remarks, and he’d either absorb or bear it. The compliment surprised him, and he struggled, strived, not to show it, features rendered nonchalant again, except for the tiniest of smiles peeking through. “Thank you.” Cool had never been something he’d attempted to embody, magic or otherwise; cold, aloof, and intimidating so everyone left him the hell alone had worked for a significant amount of time before Caido. Now they all seemed to accept his constant modes of silence, quiet, hushed platitudes, and action over eloquence. The cheeky grin at can’t be that bad caused a sharpening, a narrowing of his eyes. “I was tempted during LongNight.” To slay him, to render him completely, utterly diminished on the Monster Hunter Guild’s floor. He could’ve tossed him out with the demons, left him amongst the fiends and heathens. The only thing that had saved Adam was the very person whom he’d mocked, ridiculed, and spun through torrents of embarrassment and harassment. Remaining calm and composed, the warning immersed itself in the breadths of stillness, in an ominous motion, in the piercing, puncturing fathoms of his eyes. Do not do that again: strictly to Amalia, drugs or public shaming otherwise. But the subject altered back upon the gods, and he shrugged, the uncertainty of it all rippling through his shoulders. “Tolerates, maybe.” Half a grin lodged somewhere, used to being unworthy and undeserving of their attention, no matter which world he’d been wandering and warring through. He presumed any forbearance from the goddess to himself was mostly due to Amalia’s presence and influence; otherwise he’d just be another ignored Abandoned, continuing to detach himself from deities and their ramparts. He eyed the two baskets side by side: one handmade, the other orchestrated by magic, both highlights of subsequent skills. Deimos wouldn’t have been able to braid and plait the fronds in such a way – it would’ve been a clumsy, misshapen mess. Adam’s couldn’t have notched his together with enchantments or invocations; not the right race for the undertaking. “A tie,” Deimos acknowledged and confirmed, arch to his brow signifying nothing more.

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ADAM

"You're welcome." Adam shot a finger gun at Deimos, almost winking but just about resisting the temptation. Hopefully, this would not ruin the genuineness of his compliment, which he had really meant.

Deimos mentioned Longnight and for a second Adam's first instinct was to pretend he didn't know what he was referring to, but...that wasn't very in the spirit of what he was trying to do, was it? Cringing, he looked down and plucked at the grass. "Uhhhh...yeah. Sorry about that. I just really fucking hated being cooped in like that and I guess I thought if I could be funny it might make it better...but I think I just ended up being a dick." Rather often he realised he'd probably seemed uncouth after the fact, but he very rarely admitted it.

"Besides, Amalia's only done anything with me once, and I made sure she was safe. Nothing addictive or dangerous." He promised, and this was true enough. Adam had things in his bag that were for emergencies, things that could really blow your mind; he'd given Amalia a fraction of a fraction of the safest concoction he had.

That the bet was decided to be a tie...Adam felt Deimos might have been letting him win, as it were, a little. He wasn't going to argue with it though. "Nice. I guess they'll both do for...catching the sun, then? Or whatever? It's kinda silly, don't you think?"

A wasted youth is better by far

Then a wise and productive old age

Base Code by Sky!

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace He only vaguely understood the finger gun gesture now, but just stared nonetheless at the action, a slight narrowing of his eyes the only thing that pierced through the intervals of indifference. What he hadn’t expected was an apology; though it probably shouldn’t have been towards him, but Amalia, who’d taken the brunt of the ridiculousness. The admittance of his behavior was some step in the right direction though, and the Sword would take what he could get for now – still not entirely satisfied, grudges and spite a difficult thing for him to parse and fold away. In the past, they’d fueled him to go about his fury, his might, his wickedness. “You did,” rankled on deeper tones – he’d been restless along LongNight’s intervals too, but hadn’t thought to shatter or pierce it on others. Instead, he’d paced, deliberated, concocted, and then wandered out into the threads of the demonic evening with Remi to retrieve bodies. Then later, to billow and fan their world into flames. Disastrous, all the way around. He said nothing more on whether or not the drugs had been safe, that Adam had shielded her from the worst of it – mostly because he’d rather let the matter drop now, to not go back into those cycles of ridicule and unease. He had enough of the latter to keep him going for another eternity. On the silliness of festivities, he had to shrug once more. Last year’s intervals had been more in semblances of relief: Amalia, Kiada, and the rest (including Adam) had been rescued, there’d been time to breathe rather than seethe. “A little,” if he were to admit it; silly in retrospect to everything else they had to conquer, figure out, muddle through. He didn’t mention if it was something to look forward to, if it brought some semblance of peace or refuge in this ridiculous, damning tempest. The last time he had even thought it had been towards Fiat Lux, and the nefarious, abhorrent unraveling of the festival meant he wouldn’t incline those beliefs outward any longer.

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ADAM

"Yeah, yeah I did." Deimos' characteristically brief way of putting things summed it all up, really. Still, all he could do now was apologise and try to be decent after, which was what he'd hoped this basket-making session had achieved.

Though with all the best will in the world, he found Deimos somewhat exhausting to speak to. There were two words for every ten he gave and teasing out information from the solid wall of a man was beginning to wear on him. Having both agreed this whole thing was silly anyway, Adam stood with his basket and looked out over the water just once before shaking his head and bowing to Deimos, a little too deep to be serious.

"Well then, I guess I'll see you later. Cheers for the chat, mate. See you later." With that said he turned to walk away, whistling for Coffee to follow.

{fin}

A wasted youth is better by far

Then a wise and productive old age

Base Code by Sky!