{se} you got that sugar in your voice

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Though he didn’t know the cub for more than these mere moments, the big-pawed youth seemed to be taking it all in stride. They’d know better given more time, though he pondered and wondered if he should be apprehensive about the possibilities of his own companions’ reactions. “Hopefully he and Belial will get along,” and the peryton was the only cretin within the household to give him some consternation at any interval; but with him quietly napping, the meeting could be postponed – in no rush to see if reactions were going to be abysmal or fine. Zuriel would take everything in stride, as she’d always done.

He glanced sideways, because he certainly hadn’t been working on any room. “Just another weapon,” he mumbled, but it’d been some manner of amusement and sanity, in between the other stretches of their busy lives and schedules. Then, with her hand dangling in front of him, he was sorely tempted to simply yank on it and have her spill across his lap. The juvenile possibilities became a slight display in his piercing eyes, but he let the mischief go in relenting facets for the semblances and prospects of cooking.

Retaining his former position quickly despite his frame, he nodded, agreeable with the choices. “Salad, probably,” and they could save pasta for another day. Deimos did narrow his eyes at the framework of having to share, motioning over to the sink to wash his hands. “That is fine.”

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