DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Nothing easy, everything exposed, twitches in veins that still made them entirely human. After events unfurled one by one, some by small degrees, changing, altering the Council Hall to the new Wardens’ likings, restoring the barracks to what they were before, and some larger, impending, skimming under the surface. The first, perhaps, was at his door.
The evening had peeled away layers upon layers and left him drafting schematics and particulars on parchment, collected by the fireside and along a desk. Belial sounded the alarm first, merely by scratching at the backside of the aperture, and so he stood, presuming something in its wake – opening towards the outer world, letting the cold settle into his bones, and rounding his piercing eyes upon Kiada. The peryton jumped and squealed, but with one warning, and her body language, even the youth stilled. The Sword breathed, and naught was going to be easy. Would it be a repetition of past conversations? Or something new altogether? “Come in,” not a command or a demand; but an invitation.
He didn’t offer his hand; not like before. She hadn’t wanted it then, and she likely didn’t want it now.
Still solid, strong, and stalwart, he drifted back into his own confines. They were boxed up as well, getting ready to move back into the barracks apartments; boxes here and there on the table, Rexanna’s lantern untouched in the middle, a few other odds and ends collected from the Spartan void (weapons gathered in their own little section). He began to speak, another rumble, grabbing hold of what he’d been working on. “Sah gave me an idea. I do not know if it is feasible, but I wanted to talk to you about it when you returned.” Just the timing was incredibly off, like everything else.
The evening had peeled away layers upon layers and left him drafting schematics and particulars on parchment, collected by the fireside and along a desk. Belial sounded the alarm first, merely by scratching at the backside of the aperture, and so he stood, presuming something in its wake – opening towards the outer world, letting the cold settle into his bones, and rounding his piercing eyes upon Kiada. The peryton jumped and squealed, but with one warning, and her body language, even the youth stilled. The Sword breathed, and naught was going to be easy. Would it be a repetition of past conversations? Or something new altogether? “Come in,” not a command or a demand; but an invitation.
He didn’t offer his hand; not like before. She hadn’t wanted it then, and she likely didn’t want it now.
Still solid, strong, and stalwart, he drifted back into his own confines. They were boxed up as well, getting ready to move back into the barracks apartments; boxes here and there on the table, Rexanna’s lantern untouched in the middle, a few other odds and ends collected from the Spartan void (weapons gathered in their own little section). He began to speak, another rumble, grabbing hold of what he’d been working on. “Sah gave me an idea. I do not know if it is feasible, but I wanted to talk to you about it when you returned.” Just the timing was incredibly off, like everything else.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
