DEIMOS
Torchline used to be a representation of elements he’d eternally understood. The ocean, much like the mountains, had carved his bones, shaped his edges, established boundaries, verges, and vestiges that still lingered within. For now though, it carried the weight of its unfortunate establishment with infidels and morons; and he’d taken to watching Hotaru very carefully. If there were lines of despair. If there were haunting magnitudes. If it seemed at all apparent that she was ready to bolt into the direction of either Sunjata or Nate. If she appeared ready to fall apart at the distinction between sand, surf, and shoal. These worlds honed and harpooned so many memories, that it was possible, probable, that any of the notions could pierce and slip right through.
But despite his narrowed gaze and attempts at distraction (mostly juvenile – like compelling Hels to stalk around her head), there didn’t seem to be anything. Perhaps that was a warning too, that she was keeping it together with nothing more than the sea breeze and his company.
Maybe he’d underestimated the insinuations though, because before long she tripped over a piece of wood, and while he muffled his laugh behind his hand, Zuriel and Belial traded suspicious looks, automatically sauntering further along the beach, seeing the notions coming.
The monolith tilted his head at her inquiry; as if it were baffling, stupefying, and bewildering. “A game of catch,” resounded in a flattened tone, arms crossed over his chest. As if the trivial notions were far beneath him (they weren’t – he was already calculating something). Hotaru would know the angles of provocations and challenges, how they always brimmed and brewed to the surface of his entity, piercing gaze darting upwards, along the dunes. “Sure.”
And if she was surprised by his agreement, then maybe he could shock her further with his alterations – immediately shifting into the hellhound form. Massive, Stygian, behemoth regards, muscles bunching, unfurling, and then racing up ahead, only announcing his intent with a swift bark – waiting for her to throw and toss.
But despite his narrowed gaze and attempts at distraction (mostly juvenile – like compelling Hels to stalk around her head), there didn’t seem to be anything. Perhaps that was a warning too, that she was keeping it together with nothing more than the sea breeze and his company.
Maybe he’d underestimated the insinuations though, because before long she tripped over a piece of wood, and while he muffled his laugh behind his hand, Zuriel and Belial traded suspicious looks, automatically sauntering further along the beach, seeing the notions coming.
The monolith tilted his head at her inquiry; as if it were baffling, stupefying, and bewildering. “A game of catch,” resounded in a flattened tone, arms crossed over his chest. As if the trivial notions were far beneath him (they weren’t – he was already calculating something). Hotaru would know the angles of provocations and challenges, how they always brimmed and brewed to the surface of his entity, piercing gaze darting upwards, along the dunes. “Sure.”
And if she was surprised by his agreement, then maybe he could shock her further with his alterations – immediately shifting into the hellhound form. Massive, Stygian, behemoth regards, muscles bunching, unfurling, and then racing up ahead, only announcing his intent with a swift bark – waiting for her to throw and toss.
think about this
you have the ability to survive anything
you have the ability to survive anything
