Deimos
Deimos had done many considerations when it came to Halo as well; even when he and Evie were first deciding to even take up the mantles. Knowing how it had been for him in the past, the pressure, the overwhelming, overbearing, cantankerous bridges he always made for himself. He liked to believe he’d gotten better in the interim, but maybe just accustomed to the constant state of restlessness, requirements, and duties; the obligations of citizens, regions, family, friends. The question made him snort, regardless, immediately shaking his head. “Have enough on my plate already,” of which she knew, considering the glance she gave him. “Evie is due at the end of this season anyway,” he mentioned with a light grin, so it wouldn’t seem strange when either of them were carting around another infant again. “But if I hear of anyone looking to rampage through the desert, I will let you know.”
It seemed she’d been coinciding with the notion of the gods anyway, and his head tilted vaguely again, concentrating flickering between the squeaking sounds nearby and the carrying conversation. It did appear to be a Ludo and Mort terrain, what with the rampant feeling of death. Loosening a slight chuckle, he arched his brow back at her as she warned about going all maudlin. “You do not seem the type to fade.” Nor meant to roam in the background – he might’ve gone further, but then there was the distraction.
Glancing downward, he caught sight of the tiny slug. His face flattened, glancing upwards at Belial. “Really,” he extended; as if this had been the thing he’d warned about, but the peryton screeched in return, and the Sword sighed. “Chebis slug. Harmless.” So he stepped around it, as it made to meander away, before there was another chorus of sounds – and his gaze narrowed again.
It seemed she’d been coinciding with the notion of the gods anyway, and his head tilted vaguely again, concentrating flickering between the squeaking sounds nearby and the carrying conversation. It did appear to be a Ludo and Mort terrain, what with the rampant feeling of death. Loosening a slight chuckle, he arched his brow back at her as she warned about going all maudlin. “You do not seem the type to fade.” Nor meant to roam in the background – he might’ve gone further, but then there was the distraction.
Glancing downward, he caught sight of the tiny slug. His face flattened, glancing upwards at Belial. “Really,” he extended; as if this had been the thing he’d warned about, but the peryton screeched in return, and the Sword sighed. “Chebis slug. Harmless.” So he stepped around it, as it made to meander away, before there was another chorus of sounds – and his gaze narrowed again.
we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts
we are battling, hungry beasts
