DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos’ self-indulgences usually ranged from infantile mischief to some angles of vehemence and violence; neither one likely to be considered something justified in healing or mending himself. It’d been a long road of disaster, mayhem, battle, crusades, and rationales of vengeance and sedition. To have paused, even momentarily, to try and contemplate a time, a place, where he was not drained, exhausted, fatigued, or driven to new Atlas realms, would’ve meant he was worth it, deserving. And moments in between had taught him that he wasn’t. There were others to save. There were others to maul. There were others who required shelter and aid.
Somewhere in between his forehead landed along his arm, and he breathed, slowly, mind puzzling and working its way through the ministrations. But these couldn’t be calculated, and after a while he could only appreciate Ru’s skilled work; back stretching as muscles were released, as tension went away, as he ceased carrying multitudes of efforts, of trials, of tribulations, all at once. Freeing, liberating, in the course of motion across skin and flesh and bone. She might’ve been rewarded with the slightest of grunts, that he turned into a half-laugh, not hollowed, but reverberating against the surface of the table.
And then he was free to only listen – of Ru’s life after Helovia and before Caido, and he tilted his head in earnest, ensuring she was heard. More journeys and more escapes, portal after portal, different and varied. While Deimos had only Helovia and Isilme to his name prior to this land, the Valkyrie had snagged at peaks and valleys of other kinds, other nuances, picking up on trades, values, and means beyond war and heartbreak.
Before he had an opportunity to respond though, her hands coiled at his hips and he snarled involuntarily, a warning, a grumble, as she skimmed along the hem of his shorts; but then she seemed to move on, and the joints and ligaments there could fall under the same regime. So he didn’t turn and twist to look back at her, not when everything fell quiet, not when her voice had softened and the pine scent kept drifting through his senses – reminded of World’s Edges and Basin enclosures. “Then maybe you were not alone. You still had those people.” Even if it wasn’t members of her family. Even if she couldn’t get too close. He blinked, and his eyes closed momentarily, contemplating, reassuring. “And now you are here, and you have us.” Kiada. Himself. Friends and companions that had no associations with Sunjata and his prowess of idiocy.
Somewhere in between his forehead landed along his arm, and he breathed, slowly, mind puzzling and working its way through the ministrations. But these couldn’t be calculated, and after a while he could only appreciate Ru’s skilled work; back stretching as muscles were released, as tension went away, as he ceased carrying multitudes of efforts, of trials, of tribulations, all at once. Freeing, liberating, in the course of motion across skin and flesh and bone. She might’ve been rewarded with the slightest of grunts, that he turned into a half-laugh, not hollowed, but reverberating against the surface of the table.
And then he was free to only listen – of Ru’s life after Helovia and before Caido, and he tilted his head in earnest, ensuring she was heard. More journeys and more escapes, portal after portal, different and varied. While Deimos had only Helovia and Isilme to his name prior to this land, the Valkyrie had snagged at peaks and valleys of other kinds, other nuances, picking up on trades, values, and means beyond war and heartbreak.
Before he had an opportunity to respond though, her hands coiled at his hips and he snarled involuntarily, a warning, a grumble, as she skimmed along the hem of his shorts; but then she seemed to move on, and the joints and ligaments there could fall under the same regime. So he didn’t turn and twist to look back at her, not when everything fell quiet, not when her voice had softened and the pine scent kept drifting through his senses – reminded of World’s Edges and Basin enclosures. “Then maybe you were not alone. You still had those people.” Even if it wasn’t members of her family. Even if she couldn’t get too close. He blinked, and his eyes closed momentarily, contemplating, reassuring. “And now you are here, and you have us.” Kiada. Himself. Friends and companions that had no associations with Sunjata and his prowess of idiocy.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
