DEIMOS
Oh, but Zuriel watched. A careful observer, much like her bonded, except hers came with pride, superiority, and a level of arrogance she’d crafted through her life. The mare narrowed her eyes, sidling out from the shadows, hovering along the reaches of the lantern’s light. Was it so she wasn’t forgotten, craving the integral attention? Or lurking in curiosity? Hard to say and hard to tell, but Deimos arched his brow in mocking inquiry towards her, saying and offering naught else. Suspicions drawn both ways, perhaps.
Leaving the unicorn to her own devices and speculations, the soldier snagged at his bag as Shaye proclaimed what he’d figured over swimming; taking out the honey butter he’d found at the market, an accompanying knife, and some grapes he’d forgotten he’d stashed. Snagging the tray once more so it rested between them, he placed the multitudes of food along its surface, contemplating what to procure. “The Miana Pool is further down, and a lot calmer.” But he wouldn’t push the topic, hands grabbing a slice of bread and cheese, biting into it as she surveyed Belial.
Not offended by her previous quip, and long since accepting of the consequences rendered over his shoulders, he allowed the moment to pass through without another comment. The notions about the peryton though instigated bemusements. A snort rumbled through again, an easygoing laugh. “He is very spoiled. Do not worry about it.” There was some chirp of disgust in response, but Deimos ignored it. “Next time.”
For some reason, he didn’t expect her to sit across from him – so the sunset hit proportions of crimson hair and not the waves; tilting his head vaguely, watching for half a moment, before snatching at a miniature vine of grapes. “Not many seem to believe we are quite indulged in Halo,” and he grinned then, a broader thing, as if all the memories came to light in far grander measures – especially when they didn’t have to worry about the unbearable nature of the heat. But then it must have sounded like he still lived there, and the smile curled away, and he picked a grape off its section.
The Sword didn’t know what to do with the inquiry for a second, machinations carefully picking through his mind before answering. “I do not mind it. I was born beside the ocean,” in another world, in another place, in another time altogether; and his eyes flickered to the sea itself, to the salty breeze, to the sand beneath his frame. “But it is not home.” Not for a man with winter in his bones, in his breath, in his blood. He ate the fruit quickly then, as if to ward off any melancholy threatening its way onward. By way of purposeful distraction, he mused out loud. “Do you want to discuss monsters or Halo first?”
Leaving the unicorn to her own devices and speculations, the soldier snagged at his bag as Shaye proclaimed what he’d figured over swimming; taking out the honey butter he’d found at the market, an accompanying knife, and some grapes he’d forgotten he’d stashed. Snagging the tray once more so it rested between them, he placed the multitudes of food along its surface, contemplating what to procure. “The Miana Pool is further down, and a lot calmer.” But he wouldn’t push the topic, hands grabbing a slice of bread and cheese, biting into it as she surveyed Belial.
Not offended by her previous quip, and long since accepting of the consequences rendered over his shoulders, he allowed the moment to pass through without another comment. The notions about the peryton though instigated bemusements. A snort rumbled through again, an easygoing laugh. “He is very spoiled. Do not worry about it.” There was some chirp of disgust in response, but Deimos ignored it. “Next time.”
For some reason, he didn’t expect her to sit across from him – so the sunset hit proportions of crimson hair and not the waves; tilting his head vaguely, watching for half a moment, before snatching at a miniature vine of grapes. “Not many seem to believe we are quite indulged in Halo,” and he grinned then, a broader thing, as if all the memories came to light in far grander measures – especially when they didn’t have to worry about the unbearable nature of the heat. But then it must have sounded like he still lived there, and the smile curled away, and he picked a grape off its section.
The Sword didn’t know what to do with the inquiry for a second, machinations carefully picking through his mind before answering. “I do not mind it. I was born beside the ocean,” in another world, in another place, in another time altogether; and his eyes flickered to the sea itself, to the salty breeze, to the sand beneath his frame. “But it is not home.” Not for a man with winter in his bones, in his breath, in his blood. He ate the fruit quickly then, as if to ward off any melancholy threatening its way onward. By way of purposeful distraction, he mused out loud. “Do you want to discuss monsters or Halo first?”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
