DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The moment the rage subsided he dragged his chair closer, calloused digits wrapping around palms and fingers, remaining firmly upright, towering, a shield even in the privacy of his home. Her trembling voice caused his eyes to narrow, his head to hang slightly, wondering if he should have said anything at all. “I do not know,” was an honest answer; and while one could always surmise the reasoning behind some of the broad speculations, none of them had ever come close to the truth. It wasn’t the first time Deimos had been mystified by the courier’s actions, but perhaps it’d been the foremost incident where he was stunned, marred, and hurt by them. That they wounded Evie as well only led to further irritation, the nettling of thorns stumbling and bumbling around his ribcage, the tightening of his hand over hers.
“His pride? The joke at the festival?” Had that been an inspiring action? The Sword himself could lean towards spite and pettiness, but only when actions had been taken and surmised – a jocular tone seemed particularly ridiculous. His eyes followed her movements, features struggling not to flicker into a frown or furrowed brows, striving to remain reticent and pondering amid the inanity of the entire thing.
And then what to be done.
Because he agreed; the options were limited. Pummeling him in a spar would only lend her further into the likes and ilk of Zariah, even if everyone else had done the same. Scorn would ensure his petulance remained a firm notion. A challenge in the middle of the streets for the rest of Halo to see would lend her no credibility either. Finally, all he could do was sigh. “Actions will always speak louder than words. All you have done since you came to Halo was help.” Restoring a healing area. Assisting in everything they’d done and accomplished. “Persist in what you have been doing, and he will have nothing to stand on.” The high road, unfortunately, always seemed to be the more difficult path. “I doubt he will approach you on his own anyway.”
“His pride? The joke at the festival?” Had that been an inspiring action? The Sword himself could lean towards spite and pettiness, but only when actions had been taken and surmised – a jocular tone seemed particularly ridiculous. His eyes followed her movements, features struggling not to flicker into a frown or furrowed brows, striving to remain reticent and pondering amid the inanity of the entire thing.
And then what to be done.
Because he agreed; the options were limited. Pummeling him in a spar would only lend her further into the likes and ilk of Zariah, even if everyone else had done the same. Scorn would ensure his petulance remained a firm notion. A challenge in the middle of the streets for the rest of Halo to see would lend her no credibility either. Finally, all he could do was sigh. “Actions will always speak louder than words. All you have done since you came to Halo was help.” Restoring a healing area. Assisting in everything they’d done and accomplished. “Persist in what you have been doing, and he will have nothing to stand on.” The high road, unfortunately, always seemed to be the more difficult path. “I doubt he will approach you on his own anyway.”
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
