DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Unfortunately for the newcomer, Deimos had probably never appeared approachable. He’d made it a point to explore the region of what he was due to call home; a different aspect in some ways, and familiar all at the same time. Rushes of nostalgia would pinpoint, segment, for loops and cycles, so much that he thought he was hallucinating again, waiting to see ghosts of the past rise up from snow, ice, and rime, from weather-beaten or foot-laden paths. When they didn’t, there were stark reminders that Halo was not the Aurora Basin, and that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be able to recall sanctions failing to exist – the summits and peaks he knew were in ash, in darkness, in cloaks and veils of lifetimes rendered abolished and perished; even when they pummeled within slumber.
He’d yet to be a frequent visitor of the bar, surprisingly, given the series of his life circumstances, but the sickness had meant he avoided quite a few things. Curiosity and intrigue hastened him into the warmer domicile, not looking to drink himself into a stupor (yet), perusing the quarters as a matter of study, examination, and meticulous action. Which was how he noted and noticed the Fae nearby – looking quite out of place – and he could only narrow his eyes in speculation as to why she was here.
Since the last one he’d met.
So the Sword offered her a nod, before tending to the refreshments, grabbing hold of a beer from the bartender, before finding himself a place in the corner.
Unite and spread the heart apart
