Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos had been trying, rather unsuccessfully, to find some balance in between working, friends, and family, but with Evie out for the afternoon, he’d found the perfect opportunity to segment some ideas already in the works. No letters. No politics. No one asking for help. No one expecting him to immediately come to their aid.Permitting Belial entertain Erebos, he set everything up on the floor of the kitchen, figuring if there was any mess to be had, it’d be the easiest place to clean up. Laying down newspaper to line and cover the tiles, he snagged at larger parchment rolls, paintbrushes, and paint necessary for the notions at hand, narrowing his eyes, and calculating things through until he had a wide variety and array of colors. If Amhran was opposed to utilizing those, he supposed he could always make more.
“All right, you are off duty,” he called back to the peryton, who whirled around and chirped, suddenly out of the infant’s toddling reach. “You can go let Amhran know everything is ready.” Whether or not the companion would do so without being an irritation would be its own mystery, but he skipped off in search of the young demigod. Scooping Erebos in his arms, the Sword made his way over to the first massive portion of paper, and plopped down in front of it, grabbing a paintbrush and dipping into the darker green well.
