DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
With her frown came his narrowed gaze, the laughter completely gone, and a war of frustration crossed over his features. It was like having a second Safrin lording about, and he felt an incessant vexation pressing between his brows. He’d endured, he’d persisted, he’d prevailed so many god damned times, and for what? To be standing about in this field, arguing with a demigod about choices in force and havoc? To continue losing? To grind and break and scatter himself amongst citizens and people and try to keep them safe, when it hardly mattered? His vocals altered to something reticent and flat-lined, as if keeping his soul from peeling away at the layers of very careful control. “It was not the taking of it. It was holding it.” Morgan had known exactly what she was doing when she catered to Wessex and the rest of the horde; and Halo didn’t have many others capable of challenging the Wraith head-on. The multitude of enemies and adversaries continued to build, fortifying in its own maelstroms and wakes; until ultimately the war would almost be welcome, instead of barraging the same damned thing every time.
His jaw clenched, and his eyes flickered elsewhere; on a stray branch, on a tree limb. “I am not a machine, Seren.” And likely the first time he’d ever admitted it. “I need time, just like anyone else.” To land back on his feet. To find another foothold to contort within. To unravel which and where and how to go about things after this disastrous plunge. To sort through the mess. “We all do, to figure out the next steps.” If that sounded like giving in, maybe it was just the vexation pouring through, the scraping of claws against his ribs, the trace of darkness and illusions somewhere in the midst of his mind. “You were not there, fleeing for your life. Or to avoid being captured.” And he wouldn’t want to put anyone through that again.
Better ways. Better days. He just didn’t see the path yet.
His jaw clenched, and his eyes flickered elsewhere; on a stray branch, on a tree limb. “I am not a machine, Seren.” And likely the first time he’d ever admitted it. “I need time, just like anyone else.” To land back on his feet. To find another foothold to contort within. To unravel which and where and how to go about things after this disastrous plunge. To sort through the mess. “We all do, to figure out the next steps.” If that sounded like giving in, maybe it was just the vexation pouring through, the scraping of claws against his ribs, the trace of darkness and illusions somewhere in the midst of his mind. “You were not there, fleeing for your life. Or to avoid being captured.” And he wouldn’t want to put anyone through that again.
Better ways. Better days. He just didn’t see the path yet.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
