{se} Toil, No Trouble

I lost who I was, forgot myself in the hands of someone who didn't know me
I'm slowly undoing their devastation, unfolding the corners

The sweat will keep them thinly layered for now, but both are too familiar with living in such otherwise inhospitable lands to linger in the frost for too long lest it chill against their skin. It makes leaning the shovels against the spa and hustling inside for food all the more appealing, and as she finishes her own last stretch of cobblestone her stomach gives a smaller but no less audible gurgle of protest. It breaks the slightly tense silence, and she cracks a tired grin Deimos’ way. She doesn’t begrudge him the revelation, never could even if she needed a target for her emotions. But she knows he likely feels as helpless as she does, which is why she so intentionally changes the subject.

His needling makes her laugh as she puts her shovel back, reaching to pinch at his waist with slightly tired limbs. “I can draw blood now if you like,” she taunts, the wind-born color in her cheeks making her seem more alive, less exhausted and drained than she has been. Maneuvering the door to allow them both inside, she kicks off her shoes in the entry to let the snow melt off them and down into the mat that is left there for that exact purpose. Atlas has no such compunctions as he trails behind them to greedily lay beside the fire as he always does, trailing snow from his hooves. Hotaru’s exasperation is fond as she follows behind on socked feet to check on the bubbling stew. “I hope so. I can’t stay out of this war, it’s not in my nature. But if I’m to align myself with anyone, it would be them.” The slowest acting poison of the lot. Spooning out the stew, she places a spoon in his bowl and hands it to him first before she obtains her own to sit with. Cradling the bowl for a moment to defrost her fingers before she begins to eat.

and picking up the pieces that were chiseled away

HOTARU

DEIMOS

Heave the silver hollow sliver

“I do not,” he sneered in a very boyish decree, half-inclined to stick his tongue out, but refraining; otherwise shying away as she went to pinch and poke. Grabbing at the stripped away layers, intending to hang them somewhere once they meandered inside, Deimos relented at the age-old manifestations of tucking everything away, striving to keep his head above the surface of wounds, scars, lacerations, and the number of other influences shaping the way they maneuvered. From deep in his pockets, he snagged at one of the collected treats for Zuriel, offering it out to Atlas, scratching at the unicorn’s ears.

The smell of stew eventually lured him away though, and he obediently followed into the reign of its aroma, listening at Hotaru’s description, at her tactics, at the way she chose to settle into roles they’d long since established. “There were not many wars we stayed out of,” and he laughed – less hollowed, more contorted and created in the regions of recollections, taking hold of his bowl. “Thank you,” in response, eternally polite. Thereafter he found a chair, pulling it out for himself, leaving her a space wherever she craved, and then sighing, flicking at the spoon for a moment, long fingers distractedly maneuvering around the resin. I worry about Kiada fumbled around his brain; but he saved that too, allowed it to occupy space for another day. “Let me know what they say,” came on a childish inclination, a tilted head, with a cranium for inquiry and curiosity.

Unite and spread the heart apart

I lost who I was, forgot myself in the hands of someone who didn't know me
I'm slowly undoing their devastation, unfolding the corners

Hotaru has no such compunctions about childishness, and stick her tongue out playfully as he maneuvers away from her pinching hands. Surely his blood tastes of boring meat and potatoes anyway, why would that entice her at all? That makes her face pinch, suddenly wondering if Ascended can taste notes like that in human blood the way others could with wine. Oh gods what does she taste like then?

Consumed in her overactive imagination, Hotaru wanders inside. Atlas meanwhile eagerly wolfs down the treat in a manner more canine than equine, massive head butting against Deimos’ shoulder - careful of his horn - to press further into the ear scratches. Hotaru eyes them fondly from the corner of her eye, and tries to hold tight to this solitary bright moment in the wake of darker revelations.

As they sit and cradle their bowls, Hotaru gives a huff of a laugh. “And none we lost,” she repeats, lifting her spoon in a mockery of a toast. In fact the worst loss they’d suffered had been before her time, and she is admittedly proud of that. His gratitude is appreciated, though she can only him around a mouthful at first. When she swallows, Hotaru aims a smile his way, and settles deeper into the cushions of the chair. “You’ll be the first to know.” As if that would come as a surprise to anyone. But for now there is soup and a fire to be warmed by, and good company to chase away the hurt of earlier moments. Hotaru pulls her legs up and takes another bite and thanks the world for good food and better brothers.

- FIN

and picking up the pieces that were chiseled away

HOTARU