we live like thieves
     kings among men

No. Nothing. Teeth grit, and earthen eyes flash in armored gold. Every nerve down his back, every brown and gold hair pricked and bristled. Haldir, who had come closer, steps back. For good reason. Had a weapon been in hand it would have been thrown (the polearm rested forgotten on the tree). In his own building rage, growing tier upon tier his tongue it arrested and silent. Only when his eyes catch Deimos again, do earth eyes glance to him. Good gods it made it all the worse.

For weeks he’d kept the weight and torment of rosen ghosts from the eyes of the world, perhaps it showed in how he acted, but never was it named. Here before Deimos it was beginning to be laid bare, whether the dark reaper caught on or not was unknown, but the gold misjudged his ability and assumed he would. At the very least the last thing he wanted was and audience, and another lecture. Bitter taste rose in his mouth to remember what role the Reaper usually took, what moral high ground he usually carried. What command he kept over all turmoil. And it was the last thing the gold wanted to look one was his cold, sober, impassive face.

All usual out lashings unavailable the gold was left with nothing but his anger. Hard eyes turn away, and he moves off slightly. Wanting somehow to escape, drop, or erase whatever was making him this way. For it wasn’t as Deimos assumed simply an act of seeking glory for some fine deed. It wasn’t that he wanted his name carved in the halls of the mighty. Not this act. Not that moment. That moment was not simply acting on selflessness. It was not some charity. It was worse, far worse. It was the beginning that started this whole hell which he now lived, where rosen ghosts dragged up white ones, and demanded his heart open.

It hadn’t started out that way. It had seemed like such an innocent thing. Alice nipping at his heels, and Haldir letting him free. It had been about leaving the Basin. At least he thought it had. It had been about an escape plan for his torment of responsibilities, and the heavy weight of chains. He had said she was just an excuse. But the only one foolish enough to believe that was the gold himself. Hotaru was never an excuse, but a reason. No one had ever called for such loyalty and had it handed over so willingly.

But it was nothing. His name was nothing on her lips. Fine so she didn’t call out his glories, fine. But to say nothing at all, to never speak his name or even question- ”Maybe to others and not to him” The stag’s words break his tumbling, angry (and fear stricken?) thoughts. The idea that the proud thief had kept her darkened secrets and weakness to herself should not have been so unbelievable. If she came to the borders and simply slipped in quietly no one would think it more than some spar gone awry. A snort tumbles out long into a sigh. Yet still he clings to one notion he hadn’t quite realized. It had been weeks. Why did she not seek him? Why where her questions of where he wandered unasked? Could it be that she had locked herself so completely away? That did not fit at all with his knowledge of her. Or could it be, she had played him? It was worst and bitterest question yet asked. For in it she would have played him a fool, and fallen for the weakness of his heart. A possibility he dared barely think, for it threatened complete ruin.

For a while he stays silently turned away, trembling as he rages, and falls for fears. It was only a gentle gruff by Haldir that brought him once more back to this place, this world, where the ever stoic and composed Deimos stood behind him. His thoughts are brought to a halt, the air hanging with expectation. What to say? He was loath to tell Deimos least the dark creature uncover this weakness. Under the gaze of one so placid and ever collected, it sounded revolting to pour out something as pathetic as – what he was feeling. Especially given how much was already revealed. The realization, and dare we call it embarrassment only adds to his irritations and frustration.

The gold body turns slightly back, crowned head twisting, speaking low and rumbled. Its lines trembling with underlying emotions barely checked. It was never in his nature to explain, but someone must know. Not for glory. Not for thanks. But so that this feeling in him could be validated and whatever called him to Hotaru’s aide remembered. Not for posterity, but for himself. To validate all those weeks that rosen ghost wandered in his thoughts. Perhaps it made no sense, but desperate men rarely do.

“She was caught, by a monster of her past, helpless by some memory.” The feeling he knew well. His lips felt dry and the words foreign on his tongue.   “A massive bull of tiger. I switched for her while he hunted.” Earth eyes unfocus.   “I paid the same blood price as she, but he paid more.” The last phrase was darker, something bordering the deep threats of the Reaper himself perhaps. Once more revealing perhaps more than he should, but the two bulges in his satchel slung on the tree by the polearm were precious things.   “I rested and healed in the Labyrinth.” Was the only comment the gold gave on why he did not return once finished with the vengeance to the Basin’s arches, and it was off handed and low toned.

Then he was caught by some unexpected question of his own. Some unthought of thought that his attempts to keep his distance had caused to be washed away. Yet coming back to it, he found it more precious to know than all others. For all those weeks the rosen had been some ghost, some pressing presence. Yet in that form which he had held at arm’s length she was shiftless and even voiceless. Remembering her as he last saw her, trembling vocals and bleeding wounds his chest slightly jumped. Those images which he had struggles to forget suddenly became important. The earth eyes flinching slightly to ask something so tender so revealing, and his voice was nothing but a whisper.   “How does she fair?”




OOC:: Don't feel you have to match length =]

"Talk?"