Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Zuriel’s lifted head remained poised, the treacherous horn staying exactly where it was, despite the Fae’s lowering of her weapon. Deimos’s glance towards the unicorn indicated nothing, because he was just as guarded and poised for something; his stare rendered back to the stranger, piercing eyes narrowed. He didn’t care if she was impatient, and he’d be readily content to irritate or annoy with the juncture of his reticent, reserved composure. In truth, he might not have much to give or grant her anyway: his experiences here had been amongst tides and memorial making, with the occasional foray and exploration of the wildlife. Tones were carefully neutral, no inflection regarded or bombarded, brows raised at the hand-waving gesture, and tempted to remain a provoking infidel. “Only local fauna.” A shrug of his shoulders thereafter, purposefully seditious.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
