who we are and all that we're trying to be
Could there be alternatives to fluid? Some other synthetic design? While Sah began to contemplate out loud, Deimos concocted a piece of parchment and charcoal in his hands, writing down the notions to either be savored, ruminated upon, or deciphered, across his knee. From there he glanced at its particulars, mind having to calculate and form in differing arrays. He was a soldier through and through, and the semblances, the thoughts, of investigating the materials that made up the components of an Ascended had never really come into his cranium. “Is it possible to do so?” More of a murmur, uncertain, brows furrowing. Phoebe had once investigated and ruminated upon the patchwork nuances of the blight – but that’d been years before.
He stared and pondered, wiling away a sigh beginning to form in his chest again. “The problem remains if the core ingredients are not something we can make. If it is only created by the Voice.” A pause there in too; reality scoring and scorching – not to dissuade the other man, but to examine each angle. “Or if any of them would be willing.” Last time he’d been granted fluid for that damned door had resulted in a disaster, and death of his best friend by his own plots and tactics. The Sword wouldn’t be the one doing the convincing, that was for certain.
But in other designations, the monolith could lift his head, eyes a bit wearier, body a bit more weighed down by the prospects. They were far better ideas than he’d composed, but going about arranging them could prove to be difficult. Discussing the offerings of gods conjured and flickered easier, and the low rumble exuded once more. “Safrin prefers things appealing to her beauty or power.” A few embers pooled from his incantations, sparking upwards towards the sky in an array of stars. “Nature Frey seemed to enjoy food we brought. Fruits, that sort of thing.” Harvest concoctions, and in the haze of summer it could be easier to snag at jungle filaments.
How should an Abandoned approach was a wise question though, and one he’d learned through trial after trial after trial. “Be prepared to either be ignored, cursed, or treated with disdain. Some are far more forbearing than others, but do not rise to anger.” Reminders of Jigano and his inevitable motions towards Safrin, and what happened thereafter, played through his head. To a temper, to a flare; it’d be tempting, if and when the insults began – but if Sah was careful, they may not happen at all. “Your patience is key too.”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
