DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Placing the pitcher down, he contorted through water incantations, taking hold of the residual ichor and cleaning it thoroughly from the tub; the liquid pristine once more. While she considered, more mischief contorted, removing multitudes of ghosts from his gaze, half-inclined to plot and scheme juvenile antics. “Perhaps they will get a herald involved too,” seeing as how Noah was Vi’s demigod, but the Sword shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe we can provide fireworks.” Presuming she’d catch his meaning, the depths of his grin widened, before rolling his eyes at the next comment.
Deimos had never craved titles – and she knew that, based on the stare alone. His brow arched and he shook his head, a snort echoing through the bathroom. The Warden had done as he was tasked – protecting, shielding, in loyalty and devotion to people, to deities that had instigated alterations and changes, but he wouldn’t be an individual to loudly proclaim the actions or notions. Not when they’d all suffered in their own way – whether it was amidst the Draig or scattered along kingdoms, desperate to save themselves and one another.
Which led to Cordelia, though he took the opportunity to cast an admiring, appreciate glance as Evie turned back toward him. Figure too tired and exhausted to try anything but simple endeavors, his smile took on a content air, an easygoing rumble in his chest as soap and hands were applied there, watching carefully as she spoke. Not used to any sort of pampering, indulgence a rarity, his hands were restless things, taking to the water, fingers spinning droplets nearby. In quick movements, he snagged another bar of soap, reaching to gently start a lather along her shoulders. “You do not bear a grudge against her?” The question pinpointed solely on the occasion; curious over her sentiments within the moments.
Deimos had never craved titles – and she knew that, based on the stare alone. His brow arched and he shook his head, a snort echoing through the bathroom. The Warden had done as he was tasked – protecting, shielding, in loyalty and devotion to people, to deities that had instigated alterations and changes, but he wouldn’t be an individual to loudly proclaim the actions or notions. Not when they’d all suffered in their own way – whether it was amidst the Draig or scattered along kingdoms, desperate to save themselves and one another.
Which led to Cordelia, though he took the opportunity to cast an admiring, appreciate glance as Evie turned back toward him. Figure too tired and exhausted to try anything but simple endeavors, his smile took on a content air, an easygoing rumble in his chest as soap and hands were applied there, watching carefully as she spoke. Not used to any sort of pampering, indulgence a rarity, his hands were restless things, taking to the water, fingers spinning droplets nearby. In quick movements, he snagged another bar of soap, reaching to gently start a lather along her shoulders. “You do not bear a grudge against her?” The question pinpointed solely on the occasion; curious over her sentiments within the moments.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
