Deimos
The Sword had rarely been a being to ask for help in any capacity. Though one of the first on sight or on hand should one of his allies, family, friends, or loved ones ever even require the notion of consideration, bowing his head and pleading for something hadn’t ever been one of his strong suits. Maybe it was pride. Stubbornness. Or the notions of self-sacrifice ran so damned deep in his veins that even beginning to believe another would do the same for him was appalling and bewildering. So they stared and watched one another for a matter of moments, the synapses churning, the ends burning, the time and lapse of experience carving at too many measures and images. For half a second, his eyes flickered away, wondering about the way mistakes sculpted, and if they could see them at all in the initial outlines –
And for her hands to pull at his again, enveloping and entangling, and his stern brows furrowing at the sudden movements, until the certainty burst along her voice. His jaw slackened, mouth agape for the tiniest of gestures, before he regained his breath, spoke into the ice and wind. “You know I would not ask you to do that,” for all her own backgrounds, practices, and sagacity, for the efforts she’d put in before, for things that led her down into the Wilds and not in the Grounds.
She must’ve known he’d take more convincing, simply because Deimos wasn’t the type to drag anyone else into the brink of disaster with him – even if these multitudes might not even occur upon this plain. Protective and sheltering, easily bending his frame in front of everyone else’s so they didn’t have to feel the brunt of pain, the onslaught and terror of trauma. An argument nestled somewhere along his teeth, but then Evie spoke once more and he shook his head, fingers wrapping along her own. “I will never be sure if I am right for any place.” He didn’t have the arrogance in him to even consider the semblances. The willingness to try might have hastened the circumstances. “But if it is something you want to do,” he snorted, another shrug undulating through a roll of muscle that desperately wanted to peel the invisible weight away. He wouldn’t be able to stop her, and he didn’t want to add more dramatics, more pressure, to a fledgling relationship. “Maybe we will be lucky and someone else will be more inclined,” eager to dispel the notions with humor and half a smile.
And for her hands to pull at his again, enveloping and entangling, and his stern brows furrowing at the sudden movements, until the certainty burst along her voice. His jaw slackened, mouth agape for the tiniest of gestures, before he regained his breath, spoke into the ice and wind. “You know I would not ask you to do that,” for all her own backgrounds, practices, and sagacity, for the efforts she’d put in before, for things that led her down into the Wilds and not in the Grounds.
She must’ve known he’d take more convincing, simply because Deimos wasn’t the type to drag anyone else into the brink of disaster with him – even if these multitudes might not even occur upon this plain. Protective and sheltering, easily bending his frame in front of everyone else’s so they didn’t have to feel the brunt of pain, the onslaught and terror of trauma. An argument nestled somewhere along his teeth, but then Evie spoke once more and he shook his head, fingers wrapping along her own. “I will never be sure if I am right for any place.” He didn’t have the arrogance in him to even consider the semblances. The willingness to try might have hastened the circumstances. “But if it is something you want to do,” he snorted, another shrug undulating through a roll of muscle that desperately wanted to peel the invisible weight away. He wouldn’t be able to stop her, and he didn’t want to add more dramatics, more pressure, to a fledgling relationship. “Maybe we will be lucky and someone else will be more inclined,” eager to dispel the notions with humor and half a smile.
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
