you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
“If you do not scare them a little, then what is the point?” Rhetorical, but with a slight Cheshire grin that encompassed he might use that deep rumble to intimidate purposefully, if his physical form and stature didn’t make them quake in their boots. Deimos permitted a snort to rally over the top of her head, watching as a few strands of crimson billowed out of place.
But then there were discussions about the potential work involved, and he nodded along, maneuvering the chicken around amidst the seasonings, spreading a little salt into the concoction. “All right.”
As far as paintings, he tilted his head at the mentions of a gift, pondering if he should be concerned or amused. Maybe both. “You did not have to do that,” an offhand comment, but a true statement. “But I am curious. After we eat.” Agreement and accord settled, the other conversation rallied more to the forefront.
And he did listen, turning his gaze entirely on her, absorbing the notions of what it meant to not be meandered and mired in bleakness. Striving not to flinch, or blink away something pulsing in the back of his eyes, jaw clenching, feathering, tongue unmoving behind his teeth. A multitude came to mind – about how some days had never been filled with hope because they didn’t know if they were going to survive the next hour, much less see the sun peek over the horizon, about how sometimes all he’d done for an entire afternoon was bury his friends in the ground, about how once he’d done exactly that – outside the damned Citadel, laid down in the snow, sick and done with what life had tossed him again and again and again. “It has taken me a long time to learn how to hope,” he eventually answered, swallowing down remnants and ghosts. “But I will keep trying,” he smiled, a little forced, before his hands wrapped around the skillet once more, grounding him in some abyss.
Evie’s dreams sounded like tangible things, reminders of her convictions, pride, and prowess, and he encouraged them with a grin – allowing a light laugh to filter through, and then a long sigh, as if peeling away the sorrows and sentiments. “Those sound nice,” not balking, not backing away, but forging onward. It was what he’d done – but only with his head above the water, sometimes incapable of seeing the embankment. With more thought and more silence, he persisted, down into the roots. “I would like to learn how to make more efficient weapons. Defenses. Pick up tactics I have never used from other skilled instructors. Assist with the guild more. Ensure people do not look down upon Abandoned any longer.” Stormbreak was an eyeroll, but a construct that should’ve been broken apart, piece by piece. For now though, as war blistered, that might be enough.
But then there were discussions about the potential work involved, and he nodded along, maneuvering the chicken around amidst the seasonings, spreading a little salt into the concoction. “All right.”
As far as paintings, he tilted his head at the mentions of a gift, pondering if he should be concerned or amused. Maybe both. “You did not have to do that,” an offhand comment, but a true statement. “But I am curious. After we eat.” Agreement and accord settled, the other conversation rallied more to the forefront.
And he did listen, turning his gaze entirely on her, absorbing the notions of what it meant to not be meandered and mired in bleakness. Striving not to flinch, or blink away something pulsing in the back of his eyes, jaw clenching, feathering, tongue unmoving behind his teeth. A multitude came to mind – about how some days had never been filled with hope because they didn’t know if they were going to survive the next hour, much less see the sun peek over the horizon, about how sometimes all he’d done for an entire afternoon was bury his friends in the ground, about how once he’d done exactly that – outside the damned Citadel, laid down in the snow, sick and done with what life had tossed him again and again and again. “It has taken me a long time to learn how to hope,” he eventually answered, swallowing down remnants and ghosts. “But I will keep trying,” he smiled, a little forced, before his hands wrapped around the skillet once more, grounding him in some abyss.
Evie’s dreams sounded like tangible things, reminders of her convictions, pride, and prowess, and he encouraged them with a grin – allowing a light laugh to filter through, and then a long sigh, as if peeling away the sorrows and sentiments. “Those sound nice,” not balking, not backing away, but forging onward. It was what he’d done – but only with his head above the water, sometimes incapable of seeing the embankment. With more thought and more silence, he persisted, down into the roots. “I would like to learn how to make more efficient weapons. Defenses. Pick up tactics I have never used from other skilled instructors. Assist with the guild more. Ensure people do not look down upon Abandoned any longer.” Stormbreak was an eyeroll, but a construct that should’ve been broken apart, piece by piece. For now though, as war blistered, that might be enough.
DEIMOS
