DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
And now, he was the surveyor. The examiner. The observer. His eyes caught subtle nuances, the clench of a jaw, the movement to start again, the curtailing; what they meant would’ve entailed more deciphering of an individual he didn’t know. But what the Sword could do was bear witness, scrutinize, meticulously detail the way a foot fell, the way a blade motioned across arms, the way the maneuvers orchestrated a dance – macabre and bloody by the end, and rarely any applause. Because these were no recitals – not at the end of it, when they faced down threats, when they looked their enemies in the eye, when they spotted their adversaries from a distance and waited for their opportunity to strike. These minute, finite moments built into layers of protection, brutality, justice, and shielding; their own fortresses, their own might, their own convictions. If she had as many as she presided upon, then she’d find no flaw in the routine, and practice.
His expectations for Aisha’s instant agreement ensued the slightest of smiles, the residual snicker in the corner of his mouth, presiding for half a second, before he backed out of their way. Deimos’ role here wasn’t to be the obliterator – but merely to see if she could be taught. If she could listen. If she could take those bits of sagacity and utilize them.
So they struck against one another, and he tilted his head, a polished, narrowing of his gaze flickering, following. Elidhe had already heeded the notion of keeping her armaments closer; to be utilized for either offensive or defensive, so his words only marched in direction, in thought, in where she might yearn to meander next (and for Aisha too – echoes and bounds of things she’d already known to capitalize on). “Keep your opponent’s build in mind while you move. Will they be faster? Will they be stronger? Where can you pinpoint a weakness?” And then varnish it to her advantage.
His expectations for Aisha’s instant agreement ensued the slightest of smiles, the residual snicker in the corner of his mouth, presiding for half a second, before he backed out of their way. Deimos’ role here wasn’t to be the obliterator – but merely to see if she could be taught. If she could listen. If she could take those bits of sagacity and utilize them.
So they struck against one another, and he tilted his head, a polished, narrowing of his gaze flickering, following. Elidhe had already heeded the notion of keeping her armaments closer; to be utilized for either offensive or defensive, so his words only marched in direction, in thought, in where she might yearn to meander next (and for Aisha too – echoes and bounds of things she’d already known to capitalize on). “Keep your opponent’s build in mind while you move. Will they be faster? Will they be stronger? Where can you pinpoint a weakness?” And then varnish it to her advantage.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
