something worth seeing through (open!)

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

The stone Remi held in his hands was beautifully polished, reflecting the sun's light brilliantly as it was tossed into the pool. There was a moment of weightlessness at the height of its arc where time seemed to slow and the alchemist made his wish. Indecision was rife within his chest, and as the stone splashed into the water, Remi couldn't quite say whether or not he wanted his wish to be granted. It seemed easier to let fate simply decide; it had decided so many other things in his life after all. Or so it seemed.

Watching as the ripples slowly faded away, the alchemist narrowed his eyes with a weary sort of sigh before raking both hands through his hair. The breeze against his bare arms was brisk, and Remi (perhaps stubbornly), resisted the urge to shiver.

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DEIMOS

On the air, chasing after nothingness – a venture gained, and naught else. He floated, coasted, and hovered along the heights of the sea winds and contorted breezes, the salt not stinging – too much freedom, too much liberation, diving and spiraling into it because he could. The last interval he’d maintained amongst the Miana Pool had been with the L’ma’s antics and exploits, a horde of individuals contorting around the creature as they sought to help, assist, and likely overwhelm.

But now there were hardly traces of anyone, quiet and still, a preference of his: inclining to descend further and further, and only then did he catch the movements, motions, of another. He watched a stone soar, ripples in the pool, and if it were someone like Kiada, or Amalia, he might have dove down to catch it, just to be obnoxious and mischievous.

It was the alchemist, however, and something about the demeanor, about the ways the earth tilted, scorched, and scarred around him, insinuated he wouldn’t appreciate the jocular display. So the Sword slowly traced along the air, watching, waiting, greeting with a rumble along attuned links. Remi. No inquiry as to how the man had been; the monumental weights of loss never really went away, and he had no intentions of poking, of prodding.

"who's gonna let you?"

they asked. i said

"who's gonna stop me?"

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

The alchemist looked up. For a minute he thought the bird flying towards him was Koel..that long ago almost-friend. The voice and the mannerisms that accompanied the eagle's flight were decidedly un-Koel like, and quickly the memories of the former Overseer or whatever he'd been called, disappeared.

Deimos. Remi replied back rather tonelessly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the Sword, the past quite firmly a blur in his mind now. Did Deimos hate Ronin? There had been something about...hadn't he punched him? Mentally shaking away these thoughts as being unimportant, the alchemist raised a brow as he folded his arms comfortably across his chest.

Come to make a wish? He asked with no shortage of skepticism in his thickly accented tone.

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DEIMOS

Hovering, then reeling downward, twisting and turning until he found a suitable landing spot against outcrops, rocks, and embankments, the eagle’s talons clicked against stone, piercing eyes glancing towards the water while Remi spoke. The words caused a snort, not without some motion of amusement, rumbling through his mind as if the entire statement was ludicrous. No. Deimos didn’t wish – aspirations, ambitions, and anything else in between were lacquered, layered, on foundations of skill, practice, precision, and faith in himself, rather than any other cosmic alignment. He’d always been a beast to strive towards making his own fortune.

But then again, he thought Remi amidst the same once too.

Were he human, a shrug would’ve maneuvered through his shoulders. Instead, his gaze wandered towards the horizon, on scrapes of sand and dunes, on pools with mysteries and enigmas entangled underneath. Safer, perhaps, than digging too deep. It reminds me of home. Before mountains, where they were wild youths digging into the surf and swell, when they were parading across power they had no ability to understand.

Then his head tilted slightly, back towards the alchemist. Did you?

"who's gonna let you?"

they asked. i said

"who's gonna stop me?"

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

"Oh? You had magical pools in your wintery mountain land as well?" The alchemist replies with a smirk. Northaven it seems is the only land any of them hailed from that wasn't full of mystery and magic. Perhaps that's why the alchemist was doing so poorly in this world; if only it were as easy an explanation as simple lack of magical-experience.

"I did, yeah." Remi replies with a rather brazen nod, his eyes meeting the cool ocean-shard hues of the Sword without embarrassment. "If the pool doesn't answer I'm no worse off. And if it does? Well, then I've an excuse for acting badly, haven't I?" There was a brutish smirk on his lips as he shrugged off the absurdity of what he'd just said, not believing it for a moment.

"I wished for guidance if I'm being honest. But even I would feel a fool to take advice from a bit of water and whatever beasty might dwell inside of it." Like Deimos, Remi was more inclined to make his own fate. That didn't stop him from feeling the pull of believing in higher authorities and powers from time to time. Of wanting to give himself over to threads of premonition and serendipity as if that could justify a life poorly lived.

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DEIMOS

A snort rumbled through their connection, as eagles were unable to adequately display his rough amusement. We had a lake that never froze. A pause, gaze back along the pool, because that hadn’t been the reminding faction, realizing he’d had too many homes to preside over, too many pathways crossed and maligned, too many fixtures, elements, lost along the way. If it hurt or scarred in those moments, he didn’t mention it. This was more like where I was born though. Isilme; foundations, where he’d gained sea legs and strength, before things began to crumble, falter, and splinter apart.

But that Remi had wished was far more intriguing – if he’d had more than feathers and plumes, like brows, they would’ve been furrowed in thought. He listened to the reasoning, a shuffle of his wings in accordance with what could’ve been a shrug. If only it worked that way angled its way through; as if the Sword wouldn’t be fooled by the leisure of fate being churned by pools and wishes either. He never sought fortune tellers. He never asked the gods for fate’s plans. He never waited for threads to be cut, or to sit around, waiting for the world to tell him what to do. Action was his eloquence, scheming his canvas, calculating his oeuvre.

So Deimos would never truly give himself over to deities, to heralds, to those who prospered serendipity, kismet, and any other pre-ordained providence. His mistakes were his. His failures were his. His flaws were his. He could listen. He could justify. He could alter his path.

And what would water say? What would beasts proclaim, that they hadn’t learned for themselves along the way? Or would it matter in the slightest, the primordial wakes casting that they were too naive, too young, to have truly perceived and understood the world?

That Remi considered guidance conjured more silent thoughts and sentiments. The General might not have much to offer, no more than ripples in the deep or utterings of creatures, but was there, present, in case. What sort of guidance are you looking for?

"who's gonna let you?"

they asked. i said

"who's gonna stop me?"

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

"Here?" The alchemist looked surprised at that. He'd always imagined Deimos growing up in a place where colourful sunsets were rare, where the grey stone was reflected in the expressions of its people. He imagined monolithic heights, oppressed atmospheres, and a general lack of colour. Though perhaps he was simply taking his rather one-sided view of the Sword and creating a landscape from it. "Would you and Amalia ever come here, then?" The question was casually said; Remi and Deimos were not close, and the Alchemist wasn't about to pretend he was entitled to privileged knowledge about the Sword and Sheilds plans.

Grunting his agreement, Remi nodded. "It was worth seeing if it did."

Considering Deimos' question, the Alchemist silently studied the eagle. It was easier to look upon Deimos in this form, for some reason. Perhaps it was simply some avian tie between them, or perhaps Remi was more intimidated by the once-Reaper's stony and stoic disposition than he'd ever properly let himself acknowledge. Either way, it was with a bit of a sigh that the Alchemist answered.

"Whether or not I could use my newfound leadership for personal gain. If anywhere would allow it, it's Torchline." He chuckled a touch at that. "If it's worth asking certain gods to take certain memories that I might not need to endure this special kind of hatred anymore...and what price I'd pay for such a thing."

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DEIMOS

Deimos hadn’t always been carved, wielded, or sculpted out of stone. There’d been years spent in wild, glorious youth, where the entanglements of sinister, savage movements hadn’t touched, hadn’t scorched, hadn’t mauled, permitted and allowed to aspire beside the leisure of the sea. The world had been varnished in color, in skylines of luminary glows, in sea-salt ambiguity, touches and glimmers of ambition fired into its sands, cultivated, rooted, in its citizens and children. Then things fell apart – as they so often did, and it was impossible to return to days of irreproach; too heavily flawed, too vengeful, too contemptuous, beaten and beaten and beaten into his monolithic prowess by the scarring blades of eons and lives thereafter. So he understood Remi’s surprise, muffled the lightest of snorts at it. Yes. The mountains came after. After wars started, after fathers were slain, after rudimentary fundamentals were suddenly cut and slashed and all he had left were the fortifications and prowess lodged in his soul, desperate not to break.

The question gave him a pause though; a ruffling of feathers portraying the barest of shrugs. He hadn’t asked Amalia, hadn’t thought of venturing out into this force beyond staring into the beyond and remembering palisades of sand. Too many homes. Too many memories. Too many caustic wakes. I am not certain. Our responsibilities remain in the Grounds. Duties, council positions, promises made to current Queens. He’d never been the type to abandon, to retreat.

But then it grew quiet again, and he absorbed the silence for what it was worth – mulling, musing, conspiring in the stretch of sun and pools. And when the alchemist was ready to discuss, the Sword listened, piercing, avian eyes rounding back upon the other. Remi had never seemed the type to dig into personal gains and aspirations; not before incidents and events spiraled out of control amidst the Grounds. But perhaps, after being used, after being utilized, driven to so many other terrifying, treacherous ridges, the man had simply been done with it all. His gaze went back out over the horizon, contemplating how best to answer, if there was anything worth noting, if, in his experiences, he could shed light on the possibilities and parameters. Congratulations. On the role, on the games he’d soon find himself playing, on the underlying schemes rankling through minds. I suppose it depends on what you stand to gain. His jaw clicked, suddenly eternally grateful again for the nuances of attuned bonds. Perhaps he wasn’t the right one to talk to about underhanded possibilities, about hatred and contempt, a fuel, a stoking, eternally bound in his soul. Do your memories fuel, blind, or bind you? To go forward, onward, into cycles of vengeance, or stifled, trapped, mired in their ruin?

"who's gonna let you?"

they asked. i said

"who's gonna stop me?"

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

The mountains came after. There seemed to be a great deal of time embedded in those five letters. After. Remi might have asked after what? but decided it didn't matter. There were paths that had all led each of them here, but if recent events had taught the Alchemist anything, it was how little attention the past deserved.

"I think I heard something about Rexanna's...council, she's calling it?" The Alchemist offered a slight but not impolite shrug. "I suppose I keep assuming that because we were all together that we'd end up together again. Though saying it out loud..." His smile turned crooked for a moment as he rolled his eyes at himself. "..I realize how silly that soudns."

Humming at that, the Sword's words while not untrue, were not particularly guiding either, he turned his eyes towards the pool. Feeling the soft swell of all that went unsaid through the bond, the Alchemist considered the question earnestly for a long while. "All of them, I should think." He answered eventually, cheeks flushed with unshed memories. "Some trigger in me responses that feel as close to reflexive as when you tap that particular spot on your knee. Other times I'm unable to see or hear reason, so loud and obtrusive are the ghosts of my past."

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DEIMOS

Deimos paid attention to histories, because they often repeated themselves. Some gesture of legend wove itself around others, some made the same mistakes as those before them, some attempted to conquer what couldn’t be vanquished. But he also tended to mire, to root, himself into those past trials and tribulations, lingering in the footholds of things that were treacherous and deceitful, bringing those motions forward here, and finding them lacking. It’d been vexing when attempting to assimilate into another culture, another region, another world entirely, but he’d committed to it – listening, listening, listening to the ways this earth worked.

Remi’s words stung perhaps a little more than the Sword expected – that their intertwining of layers, of all the lacquer stuck between them along the Grounds, had seemingly dissipated. Too many events, too many other pathways, too many dreaded cataclysms had worn bonds thin or unfurled them entirely. Others stretched out their wings and flew as far as they could. Some perished. Yes to the inquiry, though the uncertainty of how to answer thereafter clung to his mind. Instead, he coaxed an inaudible sigh to be swallowed down, to embark around instead of through. How do you find Torchline? A place to escape? A place to start anew? Or another thing altogether?

That Remi’s loathing spiraled between all three didn’t surprise him: the Reaper had been much in the same. Not incapable of reason, and not prone to impulse, but the abhorrence for other kingdoms had driven him to bloodshed, to calculations, to vicious, unwinding violence, time after time after time. Victory had been satisfying, but vengeance all the better, as if crushing another beneath his feet, or upon his sword, had been everything.

Which was why he’d probably been so lost, for so long.

He didn’t know Remi’s past, and wouldn’t ask. It was not his business. He could only remark upon his experiences, share, and relate, so perhaps the Alchemist wouldn’t find himself in the same echoes and throngs. I used to do the same, though not as impulsive. Here was a light notion of amusement through the bond. I would seek to destroy any enemy we had. But even if that happened, there was always someone or something else. It never ended; a cycle, of rising and falling. No time to rest, to sink into repose: only disaster, only ruin, only devastation.

"who's gonna let you?"

they asked. i said

"who's gonna stop me?"

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

"How do I find it?" The Alchemist eyed the covid, not entirely sure how to answer the question. "I find it...the place that I am. It doesn't need to be anything more than that, nor does it try to." He replied with a light shrug of confusion.

Gazing solemnly at the Sword as he affirmed some close-species of emotion, the Alchemist could only sigh with acknowledgement. "Always something or someone else...Yes. That sounds about right." He didn't want it to be true, but it seemed to be one of the side effects of the man he'd become. Allowing himself to properly feel and respond to the world around him opened Remi up to wounds that might never heal. Opened himself up to the possibility of reinjury. Of anger. Though it was hard to believe that there would be another Loren that consumed his thoughts, the eagle was likely right that there would be.

"Well, perhaps my request for guidance was answered after all." Remi said with a wry smile. "Though i'll be quite cross if you've turned out to be a supernatural being all this while, Deimos." He added with a low chuckle.

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

DEIMOS

The question had meant to signify joy, amusement, or some other form of emotion: and maybe Deimos had been mistaken in that regard. His ties to homes had always been rooted, fortified bonds. The mountains were in his soul. The ocean was in his blood. The crash of waves against rocks in his ears. The chilling air in his lungs. The sea breeze piercing his eyes, stretched over his abyss. He defended them with every step of his being, carried them in the breadth of his figure. They weren’t forgotten enamels or portions of the past, but living, breathing extensions of how he’d grown, how he’d existed, how he’d prospered, how he’d ruined. Maybe Torchline wasn’t any of these things for Remi. Maybe it was too new, too fresh, too nothing. Maybe he simply didn’t think that way, didn’t moor or anchor his flesh to worlds. Maybe they didn’t call to him in dreams or nightmares. So he nodded, uncertain what sentiment crossed over his own existence then and there, as his attention meandered along the pool, or across the teasing edges of the sea.

But there were agreements in always something, always someone, always a lurking faction beyond their depths. Who Remi had snagged and smothered and diminished beneath his wake wasn’t the Sword’s concern either; but he twisted his puncturing gaze back to the Alchemist, leveling it on him, a snort billowing through on the last statement. He almost said he was quite human, but the current form he was in would’ve ruined that immediately. Instead, he merely shook his head. No, never on that front. A lift of his wings as if to shrug flickered and followed. Let me know if you need anymore. Guidance, support, assistance; incapable of counting how many times the other man done so for him.

"who's gonna let you?"

they asked. i said

"who's gonna stop me?"

REMI

Karma delt a heavy hand
All too real, like a pill I can't swallow

"Ahh well, we'll see." The Alchemist replied with a wry smile, as if not fully believing the Sword. And why should he after all: the Reaper turned Sword, back from the dead, possessing a strength of body and mind the Alchemist had never seen before in another. Why not think that perhaps there was something extra infused behind those coldly blue eyes?

"I will do. Take care, Deimos." So saying, the Alchemist just gave the pool and the eagle a final look, before turning to head back towards the town, his answer in hand.

~FIN

Before I didn't understand
but now I know how it feels to be hollow

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!