Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos had calculations aplenty; and while most the time they centered around warfare, defenses, shields, protection, and security, they were often open to unfurling best ways to acquire a multitude of food. “Ah, but then we can just do a large order of cupcakes for Erebos’s portions.” Then they’d all have equal distribution, and still end up sharing. He grinned, shrugging at the possibilities, before Amhran offered snagging hold of the infant.“If you want.” They were both quite comfortable with one another. The Sword set the paintbrush down carefully, before maneuvering the infant out of his makeshift cage of long legs and knees, prompting a giggle from the babe as he was granted and given over to the Raeling. Another delighted shout of ”Amham!” was declared with outstretched and likely sticky fingers, already making a beeline for any hair within reach.
Shaking his head, Deimos took the opportunity afforded and granted to continue painting the Stygian streaks across Micah’s frame. Were he not so patient and deliberate, he might have clattered Air incantations over the surface to ensure it dried faster, but instead he simply took painstaking moments, and only breathed a sigh of relief when the first layer was done. “Getting the colors just right is going to be interesting,” he noted, head tilting towards the ones he’d already rendered. Just how to get them to appear glowing would take some thought.
