DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
His brow immediately furrowed back into concentration, silence rendered between the nuances, the memories, the harpooned decibels. Slowly, as if the magic had been swallowed or consumed by something else, barely a trickle, barely a nuance, small, wooden legs came to life, meant to represent the bony structure of the luxere’s limbs. He almost immediately required a break, a pinch somewhere in the back of his mind, in his veins, and a level of irritation notched its way through his soul; a long-suffering sigh puncturing and piercing, uncertain what any of that, this, was supposed to mean.
Adam had apparently made a similar impression on others; as if he were an individual intending to be either rough on the edges, jocular, or simply foolish, with other fathoms layered and lacquered amongst the ridiculous exterior. Deimos mentioned nothing of any similarities between himself and the joker; because he knew it take a lengthy amount of time to reveal anything of his own soul, and Adam had still managed to try. A snort followed Jigano’s remembrances, then a sigh, as he leaned back into the sand, as one hand returned to scratching Isuma, as his enchantments stilted and stifled themselves. “Hidden depths,” and he shrugged; uncertain where else to go, what to say. “He irritated me greatly.” Which, given the right circumstances, wasn’t very hard to do. Perhaps it went without saying, but he registered it into the ether, for whatever the words were worth. “But he always cared for Amalia.” When he wasn’t giving her drugs – but they’d come to some basis of understanding with that too.
And now it didn’t really matter.
Adam had apparently made a similar impression on others; as if he were an individual intending to be either rough on the edges, jocular, or simply foolish, with other fathoms layered and lacquered amongst the ridiculous exterior. Deimos mentioned nothing of any similarities between himself and the joker; because he knew it take a lengthy amount of time to reveal anything of his own soul, and Adam had still managed to try. A snort followed Jigano’s remembrances, then a sigh, as he leaned back into the sand, as one hand returned to scratching Isuma, as his enchantments stilted and stifled themselves. “Hidden depths,” and he shrugged; uncertain where else to go, what to say. “He irritated me greatly.” Which, given the right circumstances, wasn’t very hard to do. Perhaps it went without saying, but he registered it into the ether, for whatever the words were worth. “But he always cared for Amalia.” When he wasn’t giving her drugs – but they’d come to some basis of understanding with that too.
And now it didn’t really matter.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
