DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
They’d lost some track of friendly ambience apparently – though he wasn’t certain when or where or why – Deimos had always employed a significant amount of control in his teaching. Nothing went beyond the scope of the other’s ability. Nothing to maim. Nothing to torture. Nothing to torment. They held a variance – a reading, of experiences, levels, and aptitudes. But without the rendering of pain on her side, he couldn’t be sure of the breaking point.
His eyes narrowed (a warning; if she were to notice it at all) – he’d used the flattened portion of his blade to ensure naught significant warped or bewildered, just another maneuver. Just another motion. Just another interplay of swords and parameters, potential stratagems she could employ and utilize for herself. Why she chose to chisel and amplify the semblance of affliction – something only he would feel – was perplexing.
He could easily destroy her, after all. There was a measure of trust in the flow of these movements, and she was stepping on the fringes.
But Deimos saw it coming, as it had so many other damned times in his life.
A side-step, a pivot, a turn, and her sword grazed over his furs, tucking his arm neatly against his side. Thereafter, on opportunities, he lifted his blade at an intriguing angle, sending it careening on a diagonal, intending for it to be difficult to muster and catch – seeing if she could muster a defense on an armament sailing towards her hips.
His eyes narrowed (a warning; if she were to notice it at all) – he’d used the flattened portion of his blade to ensure naught significant warped or bewildered, just another maneuver. Just another motion. Just another interplay of swords and parameters, potential stratagems she could employ and utilize for herself. Why she chose to chisel and amplify the semblance of affliction – something only he would feel – was perplexing.
He could easily destroy her, after all. There was a measure of trust in the flow of these movements, and she was stepping on the fringes.
But Deimos saw it coming, as it had so many other damned times in his life.
A side-step, a pivot, a turn, and her sword grazed over his furs, tucking his arm neatly against his side. Thereafter, on opportunities, he lifted his blade at an intriguing angle, sending it careening on a diagonal, intending for it to be difficult to muster and catch – seeing if she could muster a defense on an armament sailing towards her hips.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
