[o] [SE] One good turn

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Weaver gave him many sparks of memories, of yesteryears and even years apart here, of friends granted the same namesake, of spiraled creations contorted worlds away. Instead of offering any of that to the youth though, he nodded his head again, gave an arch to his brow. “Congratulations. You must have impressed them.” Erebos was winning over another stranger, and Deimos sighed, though it was with a proud distinction; perhaps content that his lack of social graces wasn’t a heritable trait. Or the boy simply took more after Evie in those abilities. “We will see.” He wasn't about to put weights or burdens or anything upon his infant son - and would try to never instill those overbearing shackles and gnarled, knotted ties. While he peeled away more smaller portions of fruit for the boy, and then larger bites for himself, he didn’t expect the inquiry. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, the irritation of the Family in general becoming more of an obvious abhorrence, and a long breath extended from his lungs. “Unfortunately. I presume you are mean Vox’s broadcasts?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace