Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
If he knew he was being revered and perceived as a hero, the Sword would have immediately strived to evade the entire thing – but then his attention was on presents and his son. The youth, who was beyond spoiled in his own home, squealed with delight at the promise of bestowals, immediately turning away from a stick that had been occupying his brief glimmer of attention, hands raised and fingers flexing as if to already grasp. Deimos studied it thoroughly, crouching beside Erebos, as Koa handed it over, and the infant stuck it in his mouth. Sighing and snorting, almost simultaneously, he ruffled and adjusted the toddler’s hat. “Thank you.” To which Erebos remembered his own manners, and did the same ”Ank you!”Rising back up and shaking his head, he granted another small smile. “Your father is talented and kind.” He made no mention of ‘putting up with’ the Dragoon; those machinations were to come eventually anyway.
As for the intentions – his eyes flickered back to the snow. “I need a way to use my armor protectively, but with unconventional means. Thought a snowball fight would do the trick.” If his grin grew wider, and slightly juvenile and a bit like he was intending to wreak havoc, then perhaps Koa would know what was ahead of him.
