remembered fangs

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

The Sword had taken the time to return home after stupendously stupid meetings, balls, and tirades through Stormbreak; drafting letters, placing gratitude where it belonged, and ensuring all was well within Halo, before beginning the next venture. He was hoping, truth be told, that it’d be the last trip he’d have to take for a while, save for things necessary for their regional quest, as most of Deepfrost had been spent in battles or political reaches.

This would be another of the latter, but he’d granted a conviction in the abysmal wake of pretenses and charades, and there was something to be said for how Danta had covered for many of them. Deimos kept his promises and extended acknowledgments and gratefulness when they were due, so when he had a moment, he sent a note along with one of the messengers about (hoping it reached the Ancient; he’d heard about his notion for letters). Waiting along The Last Whisper, his eyes drifted over the passersby, who seemed to be doing the same to him, before his gaze went entirely impassive and nonchalant, steeled in the presence of so many ghosts.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

// you knew who I was //

For better or for worse, Danta has received Deimos's letter, though it likely has more to do with the current state of his office than anything found on purpose. Regardless, it isn't a bad thing at all, and the Sword won't be left waiting for long. Stepping out of the Dusklight in appropriate dress for an Ancient during the coldest season (read: he's still cold but whatever), he spots the Sword with a nod of his head and moves to approach.

"I'll be honest," the Maverick says with a bob of his eyebrows, "I didn't expect you to be setting foot in the Grounds again any time soon. Not that I'd have blamed you, either." They don't have to belabour the point, at least - they both know what had happened and the results of it. "I trust Evie and your son are home and safe, at least?"

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Danta’s appearance, and words, earned him a snort, maneuvering alongside and stifling a large sigh. “I do not want to be here, but I keep my promises,” he nodded in the Ancient’s direction, eyes already narrowing back at others who were sent skirting along and away. It wouldn't have been fair of him to ask Danta to traverse to snowy reaches, nor anywhere in between. “Saw Maea again in Stormbreak soon after,” the ‘unfortunately’ went unsaid, but given what he already knew about the fool’s lost role, he shrugged his shoulders; at least in Halo they’d all be safe from her ideas, notions, and meetings.

Another nod of his head was granted, jaw clenching tightly and then not, as if he remembered he didn’t always have to keep up the impassivity. “They are. And thank you for your efforts.” It’d be a group achievement to put up their farces and pretenses long enough to satisfy Dahlia, and let Evie and Erebos evade the circumstances. “Do you already have a coat in mind,” presuming the man had some preferred style or fashion, “or do I need to make one from scratch?”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

// you knew who I was //

"Ever the hero," Danta purrs in response to that, his smile lost in a flash of fangs that soon disappear back beneath the length of his scarf. Eager not to remain outside for too long - but knowing better, somehow, than to invite the Sword directly into the belly of the Dusklight - the Maverick leads them a short few steps down the Last Whisper to a coffee shop where they might duck inside, however briefly it is needed.

"You did? I would apologise, but I have no obligation over where she goes any more," he says of Maea, knowing the other man would have undoubtedly heard the news if he'd run into his ex-ambassador. "Though I hope she didn't cause any further trouble for you." At least in Stormbreak she couldn't be said to causing any trouble for Halo, which would be a can of worms he doesn't want to risk opening.

But no - the conversation moves on and there are thanks to be had, apparently. Not accustomed to doing things that would merit gratitude from anyone, Danta hides his surprise, like his smile, behind his scarf. "Here's hoping it never has to happen again," he murmurs, finally unlooping the garment from around his mouth as they step into the shop.

As for the coat, the Maverick is both flattered and surprised to realise the Sword's offer was serious, and he gestures at the coat he's currently wearing. "I'm quite attached to this, if that's doable," he says. He thinks it might be ramphire leather, based on his procuring it in Torchline; a decent length and dyed a deep, ruddy mahogany that catches red in the right lights, it's been with him since his descent from The Climb into this new world.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Snorting at the remark for multitudes of reasons, he followed, gaze sweeping in on the coffee shop, ducking within its adornments in his usual scrutiny and perusal, before adjusting his focus back to the Maverick. “She did not. We quarreled over her actions, but I doubt it did any good.” In one ear and out the other; much like holding discussions with Noah, or a brick wall, lately. Another shrug to follow; for it was not his occupation, nor Danta’s any longer, to ensure Maea didn’t fall into danger or lure the rest of the regions into her emboldened death traps. So long as she took no one else down, and specifically some of his own, Deimos didn’t happen to care what carried on from her self-destructive, martyring ambitions.

With Danta’s smile hidden, the Sword tilted his head, studying for reactions, and unfurling a huff of a laugh at the murmur instead. “No ambition to hold any others?” Thank you again went unsaid this time, but unless something were truly pertinent, and life-altering, they could communicate by letters, or brief intervals and exchanges; nothing like what had occurred.

Not surprised the Ancient already had a designated jacket picked out and favorited, he nodded. “Should do.” Within a moment, a gilded sanction pulsed from his hands, incantations spreading towards the mahogany leather, until it could become infused with further warmth – a protective threshold over the colder, harsher temperatures of the world. “There are still limitations though.” In case Danta felt like rampaging towards Halo, or the Draig, anytime soon.

--

Deimos has created:

Little Mahogany Riding Jacket:
This mahogany-dyed, ramphire leather jacket can sustain an Ancient in the cold for 15 minutes below 0C, 10 minutes below -10C, and 5 minutes below -5C. (Made by Deimos)

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

// you knew who I was //

"That does sound about right," Danta rumbles as Deimos expands on his meeting with Maea. "The only consolation is that there won't be a repeat performance, luckily. Perhaps we should all learn to speak in code." But even then, with the little broadcaster in their minds, who knows if that would even work? Maybe Vox could read their thoughts even now, and the discussion is pointless.

"I could see us hosting another ball, or some other celebration," he admits. "I didn't dislike that part. But maybe we'll give it a season or two, let people forget all of this." And besides, hosting something in Longheat sounds preferable to this frozen mess.

Luckily, though, the Sword is already working on something to make it more bearable, and there's open awe on Danta's face as he watches - and then feels - the magic go to work on the garment he wears. "Gods, that's impressive," he blurts, unashamed to say so openly as he turns this way and that. "I'll take limitations, this is still... damn. And you can just... do that, to whatever you want?"

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

“Or hand signals.” Some were universal. But his nose wrinkled just the same, at the thought of more balls and celebrations, possibly because this one had already been marred and ruined before they’d even arrived. Retreating into Halo for weeks upon end sounded inviting and enticing every second, and he shook his head, a brief snort following through. “This one may be difficult to forget.”

Regardless, the incantations proved their mettle, and the jacket would hold the heat for extended periods of time. It was his turn to be surprised by the compliments, brows raising slightly, before his mouth settled into a smile. “Thank you. And yes, most of the time.” Pausing, he assessed the coat once more, and nodded, approving the modifications and certain everything would hold. “Kiada has one as well, and has gone to Dygra to upgrade it.” In case Danta wanted to do the same in the future.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

// you knew who I was //

"Charades," Danta agrees with a chuckle - and it's easier to joke about now that they aren't all in active mortal peril. Strange what a few days of distance between yourself and certain death will do. Humming a regretful sound - Deimos is right, and this one might be a meeting to stick in people's memories for some time - he eventually shrugs his shoulders. No great organiser is the Maverick, after all.

"I suppose I'll just leave the big celebrations to Torchline, then. I'm much better at attending than hosting." Grinning and rolling his shoulders before turning as if to let the magic settle around him and into the garment, he gives the Sword another grateful nod. "Noted," he says. "And thanks again, for this. I know we only spoke about it to save our skins with small talk, but I do appreciate it."

And because gratitude is a foreign emotion for the Maverick, he quickly clears his throat and gestures around. "Can I get you a drink, before you go back on your way? I imagine lingering around here is the last thing on your wish list."

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

The mental image of even playing charades made him grimace, and inwardly he simply settled for a break away from travel and traversing and constantly shifting tides for just a retreat and reprieve towards home. Torchline could have their big celebrations and bonfires upon the beach too – even if Halo were to host such an event, the Sword doubted multitudes would come simply based on the cold (which was fine to him).

Granting a light smile instead, he nodded. “You are welcome.” Head tilting at the offer though, he shook it thereafter. “It is appreciated, but perhaps another time.” When they all hadn’t been so unmoored and rattled, when things began to feel normal again. “Take care.”

And from there, he could give a final nod, before venturing back the way he’d come – heading towards the shelter he craved.

{FIN}

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead