half-sliced pines

// disarm you with a smile //

While Deimos keeps himself close with the impending news that would likely filter through the rest of Halo once it’s occurred, Glas has not aimed to venture out further than here at the best of times. As such, he drifts on through the town with a leather bag strapped over his back with what appears to be a scroll carrier within it. It’s a satchel for blueprints, mostly, ones that he’s bringing at the present moment to the Warden for a final approval.

It’s to give one of the shops a bit of a facelift, some adjustments made to the front structure that he doesn’t want to go through with without Deimos’ approval, and as such it draws him toward the office where the Warden sits with plenty of paperwork to keep him occupied. And Glas, upon seeing it, doesn’t want to interrupt – hovering on the outside of where he’s been directed, at least until he sees the familiar gleam of glowing hands and a creation taking form.

That’s what breaks him through the stupor he’s found himself in, stepping in with his eyes glued to the item being made in quiet awe and inspiration. “Hi, Mr. Ignatius, sir.” He says, distracted enough by the magic that the stutter doesn’t slip out just yet.

Glas

// and leave you like they left me here //