{se} hold the line, your breath, my hand

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be The greenery she'd started growing with Alys is far from complete, but the risk of erosion and the difficulty of foreign aid making it through the mud to the Citadel gates is enough to force her up from where she has temporarily sat down to cuddle Micah and recharge a little. First, she finds Deimos. Snags him from his task with a pallid face and tired eyes, seeing the same in himself. She has a vague plan to make them sleep after this, so it's integral that he do this with her. She walks silently with her hand in his, as close as she can get until their shoulders brush and their boots strike the earth millimeters from each other. She doesn't have words yet for everything she feels, and everything she has pushed down to deal with later. Right now simply having him back at her side is enough to feel a bit of energy seeping back into her veins even if it's likely psychosomatic. As they walk out of the Citadel gates, she gestures to the swathe of colorful groundcover she'd already planted and her lips twitch in a paroxysm imitating a smile. "Come on. I still have seeds." The bag hangs on her other side, though she doesn't drop Deimos' hand until they've made it to the end of the sprawl of plants, reaching within to hand him a jar before opening her own and sprinkling a few on the muddied ground. A bit of magic and it grows and unfurls, spreading out across the terrain and soaking up water that she directs into its roots or otherwise dissipates into the air. Tiny efforts, but it's all any of them can do.

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Between rescuing those lost within the bay, maiming plants and encountering more creatures of the void, repairing infirmaries, instilling emergency shelters, and whatever else Halo required, Deimos had long since lost track of sleeping. Exhaustion pulled and tugged far more than it had in seasons, but the notions of ceasing when everyone needed support, guidance, and assistance seemed insurmountable – and then there would be other lands seeking aid –

He took Evie’s hand and glanced down at features nearly reflecting his own, unfurling a long, long held sigh and a thousand other emotions weighing down across his shoulders. They’d known this was coming, but not the severity, the strife, and the monumental amount. Perhaps it didn’t matter, in the end, because there was work to be done and needs to be met. That all the terror and trepidation had arrived into tangible reality was a sickening blow, but he wasn’t quite ready to name the blades buried in his chest. “Have you eaten?” He asked instead, snagging two large rolls out of his bag – the usual desserts flair had left the moment the meteor struck – but he’d managed to purchase the bread in between roles and shifts.

The Sword didn’t expect color or greenery to hit his sights as they stepped out of the gates – the bay lingering nearby still left him glancing out over the horizon, as if more bodies might come flowing in – but he caught her smile and arched his brow. He followed dutifully and tiredly, eyes swindled towards large ferns and sprawling verdantry, seeds falling into their path. “You have been busy,” came along a low rumble, and then proceeded to do the same – carefully and intricately lowering the pips and kernels to adorn the ground, before becoming soaked into roots and sprouts.

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be Evie knows they're both hypocritical about sleep and self-care, so she knows it's up to her to be the first to bend, to reach for him in the crowd and bring him for a moment away to breathe and re-center. It may still be work, but it's work they can do away from the crush and bustle. She doesn't have the energy for dramatics, but her groan is soft and heartfelt with appreciation when he pulls bread from his bag, taking the roll with her free hand and squeezing his with her other. "No, though Alys has kept me hydrated," she murmurs just before she bites a chunk out of it, the numbness of ignoring hunger for hours shattering as soon as it hits her tongue and reminding her of the gnawing in her stomach. By the time they've made it out of the gates it has vanished from her hand, and she tries for a smile at his comment. "These particular plants will help protect against erosion. I'm hoping it will help with controlling the flooding short and long term." Whether it does will only be seen with time, but it has certainly helped with the mud, and with creating a visual path for any aid from foreign regions of the safest places to step to get to the Citadel gates. As they work alongside each other, Evie belatedly realizes her hands are battered once more, and she pauses as she considers whether it's worth the magic to heal. Frowning, she decides it is, and takes a moment to heal the scrapes and lacerations along her knuckles and palms. Flexing her hands, she begins planting again. Dissipating the excess water with her magic, or redirecting it intentionally to help grow the seeds she's planting and aging with yet more magic. It will tire her quickly enough, but she has a plan for that. A loose plan, but she hopes it will help both of them. "Have you slept?" Food and water are just as important, but given she'd just seen him eat, now this is the most pressing concern.

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Deimos had always been the cretin known to ignore his own needs. With their world frayed and fractured, he thought it selfish to turn inward – not when there were people to save, shelters to put in place, and threats blistering over the horizon. He was also the sort to run himself into the ground to ensure others wouldn’t do the same, and while it might’ve been hypocritical, the sacrificial aims had saved and salvaged multitudes over the course of his lifetimes, and it was difficult to break the primordial habits, no matter how often they’d all tried.

He pulled the canteen out of his bag and drank his fill, content for the moment with the bread in his stomach, capable of carrying on for however much longer they needed. Days? Weeks? Months? The world was fraught but they couldn’t be – not now – and he’d settled into the age-old routine of embedding strength and power, might and determination, into the echoes of the tundra like a vicious, unending demon. Still, despite having some recently, he held the container out for her thereafter, as they passed through greenery and life and symbols that shouldn’t have prospered an ache in his ribs.

He surveyed the plants quickly, not recognizing all of them by name, but grateful for their purpose. “I thought about moving the water back, but it would likely just return.” Magic to fold and maneuver and counteract, until they could get their bearings, but based on the layout of the land, it would begin seeping and sinking in soon after. So he followed her mantra and motions, the earthen wares in his veins plucking at stems and roots and ensuring they were stable, elongating and ascending towards the sky, twisting and turning with vibrancy and rigor. Pathways of whatever solidity they could muster, in a realm doomed to something else. "Maybe if I slowly evaporated it...," came on a gesture of machinations, starved for some other plans and orders.

The question made him laugh, a tired and exhausted one, broken and muffled back into quiet thresholds. “No.” He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to their home. Belial was off assisting in retrieving more forms from the lake, Zuriel was at the infirmary tending to wounds, and he’d yet to even begin processing Safrin’s aspects further. The whole thing felt like years and years before. But he tilted his head, gaze pinpointing on her while another fern prospered beneath his hand. “Have you?”

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be Evie is usually the one to tell him to slow down, to take care of himself, but they have so rarely both been called to the same cause at the same dire hour. She hopes it speaks to their dedication as Wardens instead of their foolhardy self-sacrificing tendencies, but only time would tell. Taking the canteen when it's offered - for who knew when she'd next have a moment of repose and refreshment - she takes more than she'd taken from Alys' flask before handing it back. "It's likely too much for even you to push back. It will need to evaporate or soak in on its own, I suspect." Which is precisely why she uses some of it to water the seeds of the plants she grows, and why she parts little channels in the earth to allow water to pool away from the new growth so they don't drown in too much of it. "I've been evaporating what I can though, just don't go overboard while growing too." She tries for a shrewd, playful look that she has mastered for him over the years, but it's a tired thing. His laughter is much the same, and Evie can only utter a similar sound and shake her head. "Snatches here and there in corners of the infirmary, though they snuck up on me each time." None of them willing or planned. Glancing down at the thick green carpet they've started growing, Evie slows her steady steps until she is merely staring back at the ribbon of color she's been fostering the past few days. "What if we just...laid down here for a bit?" She looks over at him, something earnest in her gaze, hoping he will hear her out. "I have to make sure we rest eventually. One of us has to pull the metaphorical pin, right?" Who better than the healer to enforce those ideals? Even if the Warden in her chest fights tooth and nail, the doctor inside is older, wiser, and it doesn't stand a chance.

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

He quietly refilled the canteen, the water formed within the container, before placing it back in his bag, eyes instinctually flickering towards the encroaching water again. He knew she was correct – his efforts would be miniscule in comparison to the sheer size and scale of the newly forged reservoir, but the notions had been calculated into something. The incessant need and drive to try, to strive, to attempt, to endeavor, ran far too often within his ichor, a side effect of unending calculations.

She had a joke embedded in there, but he sighed, then snorted, pulsing away some of the liquid contorting its way along the Citadel shoreline. “Would I?” Probably – but it was rhetorical in his own tired statements and sentiments, watching as the droplets cascaded into nothing, sent back to the air; minimal and minute.

To hear she also hadn’t snagged at much sleep, when she was the far more conscientious of the pair, made him tilt his head. They were both likely going to rampage onward until exhaustion ensured they had no choice in the matter, and he didn’t feel very much like passing out amidst the Citadel constituents. He snuck a little smile at the mental image though – Evie stuck in a corner somewhere within the infirmary, coiled away amidst the hustle and bustle.

His brows furrowed though at the suggestion of laying outside the walls, amongst the lush, formed greenery, a verdant tapestry of woven textures. His initial reaction was to balk, which she’d already herded through with the next statement, enough so that his nose wrinkled in childish and juvenile formation. Truth be told, he was already at the point where if he stopped and ceased movement altogether he feared he’d simply drop, but admitting that wasn’t on his agenda. The Sword glanced back and forth, from Evergreen to ferns and growth, the stubbornness, and likely residual apprehension, thwarting foolishly, briefly thorned. “And what if something happens?”

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be It's certainly rhetorical, not that that stops her from snorting a half-laugh anyway. There is a quiet flame of comfort that sits in her breast at knowing that despite everything, they are still them. No matter how dim, quiet, or overlooked in favor of more pressing matters; they are still them. Humor, teasing, overworking and all. Even his wrinkled nose and the digging in of his heels are familiar. Smiling slightly despite his insistence and the vague notion of encroaching threats because of it, Evie tilts her head toward the Citadel gates not far from them. "The Shields know where we are, and Micah is home if anyone comes to the door and can lead them to us. If anyone has immediate need of us, we'll know." Stepping into his space, Evie takes Deimos' hand but does not try to guide him closer to the moss and greenery just yet. "We built a dependable system of command. We can lean on it for enough time to sleep - even if it's only just long enough to get our strength back." So they can continue serving Halo admittedly, and it certainly won't be much more than a power nap, but Evie suspects it's the only middle ground they'll both agree to.

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Tragedy could alter, but the heart and soul of them remained; brandished and overworked and still gathering onwards, striving to overcome and reclaim, burrow deep while ignoring their own needs. He’d become better about it most days, but not ones like these – not when there were so many other requirements, necessities, and constituents to care for and shelter. Evie knew that well too; the way those patterns flickered and fell, and that somehow their carved perseverance would notch deeply into the ice and sanctum.

Her smile reflected his own, even if they were tautly lined with exhaustion and tenacity. Today the Evergreen was far more pragmatic than the Sword, because he immediately looked off into the distance, waiting for something impending and doom-laden over the horizon. He made no mention of despairing dreams where Safrin gave off more damning information, where he dreaded another rise and fall from behind eyelids and slumber, or some foregone conclusion of looming contortions falling over them again.

Because the Shields did know. Micah was around. There were strength and supports placed within – another nuance they’d shared, managed, and maintained. Still, he could be quite mulish, and so his jaw clenched, tired but same piercing gaze locking onto hers. “Logic, at this hour?” He snorted, pretending it wasn’t pure daylight landing over them, that his whole head didn’t ache and his spine didn’t want to crack. “For how long?”

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be Her pragmatism is a belated thing, after days of toil and strife that she had shouldered unyieldingly. Now, she can deny no longer that rest is necessary. Even they have their limits of stamina, and while it may greatly eclipse the reserves of others, it was not infinite. Despite his mulishness his response elicits a snort of a laugh, endeared by his begrudging humor. “I know, my timing is impeccable,” she sighs serenely as if complimenting herself, but her lips can’t hold onto the angle of a smile for long. Consideringly, Evie turns to look back at the Citadel gates. “Until someone calls for us. At minimum one hour.” Whichever comes first. An hour will not be enough, but it will be better than the snatches they’ve both had until now.

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Only pure stubbornness, obstinance, and defiance kept him upright, and even then it was a barely seditious process and prowess. His eyelids threatened to droop and there was a certain way his gaze caught over the newly grown bed of ferns and laden plants that suggested it might be enticing; even as his nose wrinkled in that boyish and juvenile tenacity. It was becoming more and more difficult to argue the notions, and though he knew she was right in the need for rest and rejuvenation, somehow he’d like to believe he didn’t require it. Not when there were so many things to do.

He'd likely be proven incorrect and wrong in a matter of moments, and the warrior sulked and gradually began to sink downwards, a slow and steady materializing of long limbs eventually settling upon the greenery. Arms crossed and gaze narrowed, a very slow sigh filtered from his chest again. “Fine.” He had no intentions of maneuvering any further until she’d done the same, and despite the towering walls nearby and the semblances of guards on every corner, the Sword still felt very exposed. Vulnerable, perhaps, given everything.

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be She can tell she is breaking through what few arguments he has, his exhaustion working to her benefit. It takes energy to spare of her own to outlast him when the greenery feels like it has a magnetic pull on her body, but she knows it will be worth the investment if she can lay down in his arms and find any amount of respite. As he begins to fold and kneel, Evie follows him like a shadow, filling in the spaces he leaves as her feet and joints already begin to ache in joyous gratitude for the relief of being off them. Evie lays down first, hands sinking into loam and greenery and coaxing a small shelter of arched branches to coalesce over them - just enough to keep the world beyond away from their eyes without closing in their heads or feet. Then her soil-stained hands reach for him, beckoning him down to her level as her tired eyes find his and hold there. "Come here, love. We should make the best of our hour." She suspects as soon as her head hits his shoulder she will be unconscious, but if they only have this small bit of time, she doesn't intend to risk wasting any of it.

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Evie followed, and he could feel the discomfort slinking away for something else; fatigue, a boneless wake in the midst of all this grief and trauma and the beckoning unknown, the grasping need for some matter of peace and repose. But she sought the loam first, melding and molding herself to the greenery, and he could only glance over, behold her there for an instant, before gazing upwards at the vastness around them. Walls to their back, armaments overhead, branches collecting and extending, a small and modest shelter hidden and tucked away – and the vastness of the tundra blistering outwards.

He heaved a very long and low sigh, as if a figment was breaking down within or it was simply the act of it giving in, until he was tucked against her side, arm reaching out to ensure safety and closeness and things he could outline in their tangibility. As a means of distraction, even as his eyelids threatened to close, and perhaps to be obnoxious, his breath flickered across, billowing against the crimson crown of her head. “We still need to decide if we want to trade, train the soldiers more, or continue with rebuilding.”

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed

evie The kind of flawless I wish I could be The weight of his gaze is heavy even with the exhaustion hanging on her shoulders, eternally aware of his eyes no matter when or where. The only suitable replacement is having him against her, tucked into his side and with the grey of the sky beyond filtering in through the woven branches of her shelter. With her head on his chest and one arm slung over his waist, she can already feel sleep taking hold fast and vicious as the sound of his heartbeat lulls her into a boneless state immediately. The rumble of his voice makes her groan slightly, though her objections are surface-level at best. Decisiveness is key here if she wants to give them as much time to sleep as possible so she musters up every thread of focus and intent that remains to consider their options. "Rebuilding. I know training is important, but Halo and Torchline were hit hardest, and the Citadel is still relatively untouched." Fractured from the quake, but unbroken, with the devastation reaching just beyond the walls. Squeezing him with her arm around his waist, Evie turns her face into his chest. "Now sleep, love. The rest will still be there when we wake up."

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

The slumber was beyond tempting, but his mind still flickered and flowed, eternally ready for calculations within a snap; too war-born and defense-laden. A long breath lingered through his chest though, an ease of his body into her frame and the clutches of the grass, gaze going to the top of her head, and then the wisps of crimson meandering around the perimeter. His eyes closed, and machinations did not, an amused smirk beholden across his features where no one would see – a hand wandering to her hip and pulling her closer to his side.

Ordinarily he might have argued, but with the roots of devastation already taken hold, and more to rebuild, he could always take the training on into more forceful armaments. “Fine,” he whispered, begrudgingly. “And maybe we can have the soldiers going again next season,” another murmur, before he started instigating other things – gilded fractions of enchantments, reaching towards crafted and created bonds and rings – until they too could be enhanced. They’d need all the fortune they could receive and snag nowadays.

Then, he'd allow himself to succumb to sleep.

{FIN <3}

Deimos has upgraded:

Type: Light | Style: Other | Level: Basic
Lucky Pair Wedding Rings: A pair of wedding bands for Deimos and Evie. Whenever they are in the same thread, their luck goes up +4. (Created by Deimos) to +6 Luck.

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed