Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Having successfully trapped and caged Erebos within his own long legs, Deimos persisted in angling more of the blackened proportions over the tide jaguar’s legs, snorting at Amhran’s statement. “It is,” by way of confirmation, and glad it was easy to tell. He wouldn’t want the painting to come off as something more abstract. Cake as the subject matter was easy to follow too, and he laughed at the statement – as though it were a newfound goal and pursuit to simply peruse flavors throughout regions. A worthwhile one, really, and likely far better than the Sword’s simplistic ones of survival. “Ice cream cake could be easily done as well,” he winked, before establishing more Stygian lines across the length of the companion’s chest, putting thicker portions where the tufts of fur contorted together. “I have been pondering over chocolate with peanut butter frosting.” And knowing Evie, she’d want something different too. Grin becoming boyish and juvenile now, he gave another sidelong glance at Amhran, as though involving him in a plot. “We could all get different ones, then have slices of each.”
