we're all killers
The warrior somehow managed not to choke on the drink he was swallowing, but it was a close call as she smirked and uttered the improvement from the Elephant King line. Deimos hadn’t had much interaction with Tembovu, but what he’d experienced and seen with the giant was very little to write home about – storming directly into the Basin, ignoring warnings, until the Reaper arrived, and only then did they sort out the chaos and strife. “I doubt it would take much,” he arched his brow in return, finally finishing the drink he’d nearly lost. Juvenile it might’ve been to insult someone incapable of defending themselves; but Tembovu must’ve known who he was – capable of siring a great many children (not a great talent) and digging himself into deeper holes.
But then there was the wedding – giving her away - different from the past intervals where he permitted her to leave the Basin, when he watched her leave behind snow, mountains, and glaciers, ready to start some new journey with her children and ridiculous husband. She’d traded Kings, and he’d had to come to terms with it. But lives had alternating roots sometimes, beyond those grave, stark patterns, and she’d come back into his second life just as easily as the first. The Thief wasn’t leaving this time, but marking her own place, her own pathways, not guided or tethered by anyone else, power in her ministrations and machinations – exactly where she craved to be. Far be it for him to refuse her.
Only option caused him to snort and roll his eyes; he was no more special than the wind, than the rain, than the specks of dust and soil along the earth, but he’d do this for her, accept a day of contentment and jubilation when winter sunk its claws into them all (and maybe they’d relish in it instead, beasts of the rime and ice). “Let me know if you need anything else,” he proffered, clinking his drink against hers again, capable of creating whatever she required for the wedding day. He’d done the same for Remi and Ronin’s occasion: boxes for rings, braziers to jump over…and though he’d been uncertain about any and all Caido traditions surrounding matrimony, the warrior had no idea what Ascendeds demanded for their celebrations.
But then there was the wedding – giving her away - different from the past intervals where he permitted her to leave the Basin, when he watched her leave behind snow, mountains, and glaciers, ready to start some new journey with her children and ridiculous husband. She’d traded Kings, and he’d had to come to terms with it. But lives had alternating roots sometimes, beyond those grave, stark patterns, and she’d come back into his second life just as easily as the first. The Thief wasn’t leaving this time, but marking her own place, her own pathways, not guided or tethered by anyone else, power in her ministrations and machinations – exactly where she craved to be. Far be it for him to refuse her.
Only option caused him to snort and roll his eyes; he was no more special than the wind, than the rain, than the specks of dust and soil along the earth, but he’d do this for her, accept a day of contentment and jubilation when winter sunk its claws into them all (and maybe they’d relish in it instead, beasts of the rime and ice). “Let me know if you need anything else,” he proffered, clinking his drink against hers again, capable of creating whatever she required for the wedding day. He’d done the same for Remi and Ronin’s occasion: boxes for rings, braziers to jump over…and though he’d been uncertain about any and all Caido traditions surrounding matrimony, the warrior had no idea what Ascendeds demanded for their celebrations.
DEIMOS
