It was ridiculous, but he almost didn’t mind it. It was a chance to exercise strength, power, dominion, and violence, beating things into oblivion for the sheer thrill of it. Deimos had spent years in the same span, cultivating death after death, ruin after ruin, devastation after devastation, and it was beautifully familiar, a caustic, acrimonious routine. He could have spent hours simply hastening hundreds of final breaths, last beats of a heart, the emptiness of gazes; tossing and throwing the orange gourds back into their own men.
He refrained from laughing when Ronin was assaulted, but a tiny snicker did manage to curl its way along his mouth, quickly snuffed out by his vicious nonchalance. If Deimos wasn’t covered in flying pulp and goop from his victims too, the situation might’ve been funnier – but he wasn’t intent on being a hypocrite. He volleyed a few more vegetables back at their comrades along the overhang, hoping to alleviate the same occurrence from happening again.
The warrior turned to Wessex at her proclamation, as she extracted her arrow from the gourd’s rind. The insinuation made him curious – but if others grew such things in their garden, there must have been a use. He tried to recall any moments split between his childhood, family accord, and any recent intervals, if they’d ever utilized the gourds in recipes, in cooking, in baking…”Yes,” he stated, nodding his assent. Amalia had repurposed them into scones, and seeds had been roasted, much tastier than their raw counterparts. “You could roast or bake them. Try the seeds.”
{AHHH SO SORRY. -winces- I forgot it was my turn. D:}
