[se] echoes of ancients

Soleil

It's not the long flowing dress that you're in
Or the light coming off of your skin

She grins right back, though her cheekiness is adorably synchronized with his in terms of juvenile mischief - practically co-conspirators. “Much better. They advertise that you can see through the bottoms to the roots and sky below, but the water is so cloudy and bubbly you barely can. Disappointing.” Not to mention they don’t provide healing either, and the heat isn’t contrasted with the delightful chill of snow and ice mere inches away. They’re definitely both biased, but Soleil thinks there’s a clear winner here.

“It hardly counts as a spot, but I went bungee jumping off the edge of the Falling and it was incredible,” she gushes, going on to explain a bit about the mechanics of it all; harnesses, ropes, supports and failsafes. Deimos seems the type to enjoy that.

Content every nook and cranny has been dusted and shined on both lanterns she was handed, Soleil politely folds her hands in her lap (though her fingers idly twist the oiled rag still) as she waits for further options to assist, all the whole considering color choices. “Could you do pink and white ones as well as blue and purple? The deeper navy-purple shade that’s always in the middle of blue flowers.” Soleil is not particularly artistic, nor is she poetic. Her frankness has always been her strongest trait, not her eloquence. Hopefully Deimos will know what she means. Even if the shade isn’t perfect she’ll still love them, but given her childhood had been spent watching Deimos create things, she equally knows he prefers details and satisfaction and is happy to supply without coming off as demanding.

It's the fragile heart you protected for so long
The mercy in your sense of right and wrong