In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame It wouldn’t be the first hour people openly studied him – making the beast more inclined to escape into the thresholds of shadows and responsibilities. Were it not one of his own citizens he might have done just that, nodding and maneuvering down the road without another word; but perhaps he was more inclined to stay when no flicker of recognition dotted across her features. Comforting, in its own way, to not be so publicly known – a moment where he could simply exist without the extravagance, inquiries, and curiosity. Expecting naught but gratitude and then wandering onwards to assisting others or answering the stack of missives on his desk, his brow arched at the hand, but he took it and shook in Halo camaraderie. Committing the name to a face, he persisted in the introductions too, waiting for some inevitable thing to come sauntering through. “You are welcome. I am Deimos.” He was surprised by the generosity extended in return, even if she’d already left him some evasion tactic in the forefront. It would be very tempting to deny the notions altogether, but he and Evie had agreed long ago over connections with their citizens; so the edges of his smile curled in one corner, as if struggling to indulge. “Maybe for the trip. Thank you.” Perhaps it would arm his mind for the multitude of letters and political notions he had to deal with before everything else. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace