Elide
Elide nods once, understanding that each imitation will probably be unique to the situation. It doesn't help that she has such little connections with the other Ascended, as it is now. Couldn't get to know their peculiarities and mannerisms so that she might better scrutinize an imposter. "I will have to learn fast," she repeats, a little quieter, more to herself than to Deimos. Fortunately, Elide has a mind open to the teachings of experience, of those around her.
"I won't have to worry about that too much, considering that I don't have any upgrades yet," Elide admits, gaze lowering. She'll have to look out for the others, though, because she's guessing some of their upgrades will be critical in their mission's success. Her gaze grows more critical, lifts back up to eye Deimos, at the mention of deals. "I already have a deal. The Voice makes me stronger, and I do what she asks of me," she tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, feeling the tension springing back into her muscles, "I will also make you a promise. Right now. I will survive this, I'll come back, and we will resume my training. But there will be no other deals - or promises, or trades - for me. Between now and Flowerbirth, I will keep good on my word to you." There is, obviously, potential for that promise to extend as far as it needs to but, he likely gets her point.
No temptations to give in to, not if Elide steels herself against them now, not if she holds herself to this new promise later. A promise of greatness that goes beyond ascension, that speaks to her soul, that vibrates in her kogs and bones.
Deimos informs her that Wessex will be here, and that is at least somewhat relieving. To be able to speak with Wessex personally. It will either soothe some of her anxieties surrounding being ill-prepared and underpowered - or, it will only serve to agitate further. She can only hope the outcome is the former. "I hope she gets here soon," she says, simply, only a twinge of concern that wrinkles her nose and narrows her eyes.
"Thank you, Deimos. This is enough for me to think about, until I can speak to Wessex. Now," she loosens her stance, "are you ready to try this again?" The sword in her hand lifts, so that she might grab it in both of her hands. She holds it straight, at eye-level, ready to make a cutting blow or direct a strong block. "I believe it was your move," she tilts her head at him slightly, attempting to analyze him, predict, and - in the end - derail.
"I won't have to worry about that too much, considering that I don't have any upgrades yet," Elide admits, gaze lowering. She'll have to look out for the others, though, because she's guessing some of their upgrades will be critical in their mission's success. Her gaze grows more critical, lifts back up to eye Deimos, at the mention of deals. "I already have a deal. The Voice makes me stronger, and I do what she asks of me," she tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, feeling the tension springing back into her muscles, "I will also make you a promise. Right now. I will survive this, I'll come back, and we will resume my training. But there will be no other deals - or promises, or trades - for me. Between now and Flowerbirth, I will keep good on my word to you." There is, obviously, potential for that promise to extend as far as it needs to but, he likely gets her point.
No temptations to give in to, not if Elide steels herself against them now, not if she holds herself to this new promise later. A promise of greatness that goes beyond ascension, that speaks to her soul, that vibrates in her kogs and bones.
Deimos informs her that Wessex will be here, and that is at least somewhat relieving. To be able to speak with Wessex personally. It will either soothe some of her anxieties surrounding being ill-prepared and underpowered - or, it will only serve to agitate further. She can only hope the outcome is the former. "I hope she gets here soon," she says, simply, only a twinge of concern that wrinkles her nose and narrows her eyes.
"Thank you, Deimos. This is enough for me to think about, until I can speak to Wessex. Now," she loosens her stance, "are you ready to try this again?" The sword in her hand lifts, so that she might grab it in both of her hands. She holds it straight, at eye-level, ready to make a cutting blow or direct a strong block. "I believe it was your move," she tilts her head at him slightly, attempting to analyze him, predict, and - in the end - derail.
sewn together, my humanity and my immortality
together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
together, they hang, trading places like sun and moon
