[se] came back alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Let go might have been a simple command, but the motions thereafter were not. Deimos reveled in control. In compositions of stone. In armaments where everything was precise and measured, weighed and calculated. There were too many things to do, too many angles to accomplish, too many duties to uphold, too many responsibilities intact and overwhelming. Dropping away from the nuances of those tethers and lines meant giving himself over to impetuous designs, to the unknown. And while he enjoyed the latter when permitted his curious wakes and notched in the inquiring circumstances, freedom and liberation from the ties that bound were often far more difficult. But he was getting better. It took time and patience, comfort and ease. However, mischief was readily available, under the surface of his skin, into the interwoven fibers of the perplexing man. He smirked at her surprise, at the widening of her eyes, at the protection needed from his proud, unabashed fervency. While Belial paraded, lingering deeper into the pool, fully coaxed into its surface with rising forelegs and squealing measures, Deimos had other means and plans. He crouched for a moment, and at the same time Elide unfurled her assault. The siege made its keen mark on his clothing, rambling down the front of his furs and coat without preamble, dousing and soaking, unfurling a laugh when it streaked into his face as well. Features thoroughly marked, beard wet and dripping, the warrior immediately shook as if he were in his canine form. “Neither will I,” he promised with the air of Cheshire grins and obnoxious, juvenile proclivities. Within the next instant, he plunged his arm into the puddle, then raised it aloft, so the wave coasted towards the Ascended in a deluging array. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Elide

There's a mark of satisfaction in her gaze at seeing the water spray across his clothes and even reaching up to his smiling face. His deep laughter is a rarity and, in that moment, Elide is struck by his unabashed fervency. The surprise is gone, replaced with admiration. Leaving behind what she knew of him and opening herself up to what truly lies at his heart. A warrior, yes, and that should never be underestimated - but one that can laugh and play, too. That takes a special kind of bravery, doesn't it?

His promise is met with eager tension, readying herself for the onslaught that awaits her. An onslaught, indeed. His arm snakes down into the puddle and, propelled by his massive strength, she'll have no mercy!

"Ahh!" She cries out, lifting her arms and flinching her face away from the wave that rises to an unexpected height and pelts down upon her. "I surrender! I surrender!" A laugh soon follows as she steps away from his direct vicinity. "You are truly the king of puddles!" She remarks, smiling at him with a warmth that feels unfamiliar and yet... comforting.

Then, because she is clever, she uses the moment to again launch an attack. Her step back was only meant to prepare her for another leap, which she takes with haste. Her feet stamp down into the water beside him. No triumph is gloated within; she flees from the aftermath that surely awaits her for her betrayal.

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Sometimes Deimos forgot his laughter was rare – but when it was obtained it was a deep, rumbling thing that was wild in its exuberance and exhilaration, as if finally permitted to exist. It echoed off the Citadel walls and scared a few ningos away, but he was comfortable, content, alive, instead of wallowing and grieving, instead of chasing after the past like he could have it again. Instead of lingering in all those self-loathing halls, where doubt and anguish bound him to despair, to tied, tethered, and gnarled knots and he couldn’t see beyond it. This was a moment in the present and nothing else; reeling chuckles, and stupid antics with friends. He lifted his head up at her intended surrender, another round of laughter exuding from his chest, indifferent to the way the water continued to spill down his face, features, and front; soaked, and bowing at the designation of his lordly reign over the puddles. Belial was inclined to disagree, stomping through the center, but his little hooves had no comparison to the sieges thereafter. And once more, the Sword wasn’t prepared for the blast, too busy with his head down, mocking in his pretenses. The water rippled from her movements, reverberating in the expanse until his side was drenched, cold, chilling, his furs beyond soaked now. He could feel the droplets begin to flicker inward on the rest of his clothing, and it still prompted nothing more than a chuckle, and complete, utter goading. “Treason!” A holler, a shout, and then he followed, instigating the incantations now – the water rising, rising, rising at his discretion, and then deliberately dumping portions over her head. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Elide

The blast of water is enough to send her flying, drenching her coat and all that belongs to her, but she cares little for it in the end. It's only a bit of water. They're having something so rare and precious; fun. Moments like these are hard to come by, and are even more fleeting for it. Sometimes you have to let go in order to embrace everything that was always waiting for you.

So they can propel themselves further into the wake of their momentary, all-encompassing joy. They probably will. Who knows when the game will really finish? Neither are the type to give up easily, or give up at all. Maybe it isn't the victory that they hold fast to.

But it does eventually end, as all things do, and this moment will fade into the backdrop of their much more unpredictable, precarious lives. It's the cold, harsh reality that makes things like this so fragile. At least they can find comfort in knowing that they're capable of it in spite of everything else. That, beneath the stony fixtures of their selfdom, their hearts beat as wildly as any child's does.

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FIN<3 thanks for the great thread, Heather

never before had the song of war
been the song of hope ascending