Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Something like regret managed to find its way to his face the moment Hotaru began her multitudes of insistence, and Deimos found himself sitting at the table, cutting portions of his food while shaking his head. A squeeze of Evie’s fingers found their way to his free hand, and he nearly snorted at the next set of proclamations from the Valkyrie – glancing at Kiada for some wayward sign of assistance – passing more portions of dinner over and into the middle of the table for anyone to snag.He did make a motion to argue, and then promptly shut his mouth, opting to wrinkle his nose instead, and then unfurl a rumble. “We have not gotten that far yet,” which was the truth – planning a wedding had unfortunately taken a backseat to every other thing necessary for Halo, or in larger instances regarding Safrin, Caido at large. “Nor about colors.” Because truth be told, such notions hadn’t even entered his mind. “We will take suggestions,” perhaps a hint that neither of them were going to be bullied into particular aesthetics.
