chaele
worship like a dog
The nuances of the hot cocoa selection are beyond them, familiar scents coalescing in their nose in strange combinations. They hesitate at the stall long enough for a cleared throat to signal impatience somewhere in their vicinity; with a frown they pick up a cup that sits beside a few nutmeg seeds on display. With quick steps they follow after Deimos, spiced steam clouding their limited vision as they inhale it.
It takes two hands to take a sip-- one to hold the drink and one to lift the mask. Cracked lips are revealed to sample the beverage carefully, surrendering a pleased smile as the taste washes down their throat. It is almost enough to make them forget notions of war.
But then Deimos is off again, and just as the shaman was forced to follow his guidance in those hot obsidian corridors, so too do they find themself lost without his path. It does not matter that they are uncomfortable, that the auras are stifling and the noise is overbearing, when each discomfort can curiosities have yet to be satisfied and challenges have yet to be overcome. “You think that the war will be inescapable?” Chaele is less concerned with eavesdroppers and sensitive subjects. “Even in the wild places?”
Another eager draw of the cocoa finds its way to their tongue, much more desirable than they had anticipated. This costs hardly even a beat as Chaele adds to their string of questions, “It this some sort of tradition, hot cocoa and funnel cake?”
It takes two hands to take a sip-- one to hold the drink and one to lift the mask. Cracked lips are revealed to sample the beverage carefully, surrendering a pleased smile as the taste washes down their throat. It is almost enough to make them forget notions of war.
But then Deimos is off again, and just as the shaman was forced to follow his guidance in those hot obsidian corridors, so too do they find themself lost without his path. It does not matter that they are uncomfortable, that the auras are stifling and the noise is overbearing, when each discomfort can curiosities have yet to be satisfied and challenges have yet to be overcome. “You think that the war will be inescapable?” Chaele is less concerned with eavesdroppers and sensitive subjects. “Even in the wild places?”
Another eager draw of the cocoa finds its way to their tongue, much more desirable than they had anticipated. This costs hardly even a beat as Chaele adds to their string of questions, “It this some sort of tradition, hot cocoa and funnel cake?”
at the shrine of my lies
