DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Deimos would never think anything from Rexanna was an abomination, children included. While he had once questioned her timing, and parental skills, the chances and opportunities this world had given her had also granted Azrael. It didn’t make it any less painful though, those harsh, blunt, reeling reminders of his mistakes, of his errors, when a smile beckoned towards him - a grin so much like the Penumbra’s, so much like Kiada’s - slashed against his soul. Perhaps the worst portion, or the best, reeled thereafter on a chime, on echoes of excitement, on the words bounding and ricocheting in his ears (hi Uncle Deimos loud and clear). The monolith schooled his expression as best he could, fighting a sudden onslaught, a wave, barreling and blasting through his chest, curling over his heart and staying in its seditious edges. A part of him wanted to run, back into shadows, back into seclusion, isolation, stumble back on his sins and remain there, for it was all he deserved. The other portion of his presence had an urge to crouch near the child and beg for some amount of forgiveness, biting back the tempestuous edges of his pain.
So, he did neither.
Instead, on steadying breaths, on pressing strides, he crossed back over to the room, settling in the chair behind his desk. A small smile somehow managed to war and wage its way along his mouth, fighting over all the other seething, reeling emotions, hands going to a piece of paper. “Do you still enjoy building things? I have a sketch that could use another’s discerning eye.” Engineering diagrams, plans he’d intended to eventually show to the Warden in case they’d be able to find a way to leave the portal open for a future Deepfrost; this one coming too quickly.
Striving to keep himself together, the piercing gaze meandered away from the youth, and back to the Ascended; matters of business and diplomacy to attend to. His head tilted a fraction, miring and spiraling back to the thought of upcoming LongNight, notices he’d seen posted. “Yes.” A pause, a clench to his jaw, a narrowing of his eyes that only lasted a few seconds, but the distinction clear. “Will you be fighting?” The implications of it all collided and bound, amongst and amidst the various other conversations immersed into the dastardly, lethal week.
The inquiry about weapons wasn’t surprising, though his answer might be disappointing; mind reeling back to his array of items and materials, but he’d always had his own inferno, his own conflagrations. “I do not.” Another breath, and then a flickering, following offer. “I am limited in my magical creation. However, I might be able to make something in the upcoming season.” The only trial and tribulation being the fact that Halo could be locked down.
So, he did neither.
Instead, on steadying breaths, on pressing strides, he crossed back over to the room, settling in the chair behind his desk. A small smile somehow managed to war and wage its way along his mouth, fighting over all the other seething, reeling emotions, hands going to a piece of paper. “Do you still enjoy building things? I have a sketch that could use another’s discerning eye.” Engineering diagrams, plans he’d intended to eventually show to the Warden in case they’d be able to find a way to leave the portal open for a future Deepfrost; this one coming too quickly.
Striving to keep himself together, the piercing gaze meandered away from the youth, and back to the Ascended; matters of business and diplomacy to attend to. His head tilted a fraction, miring and spiraling back to the thought of upcoming LongNight, notices he’d seen posted. “Yes.” A pause, a clench to his jaw, a narrowing of his eyes that only lasted a few seconds, but the distinction clear. “Will you be fighting?” The implications of it all collided and bound, amongst and amidst the various other conversations immersed into the dastardly, lethal week.
The inquiry about weapons wasn’t surprising, though his answer might be disappointing; mind reeling back to his array of items and materials, but he’d always had his own inferno, his own conflagrations. “I do not.” Another breath, and then a flickering, following offer. “I am limited in my magical creation. However, I might be able to make something in the upcoming season.” The only trial and tribulation being the fact that Halo could be locked down.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
