Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Content and unbothered by the slapping of a hand on his back, he turned around abruptly, stomping his way back towards the kitchen. A snort rallied through lungs and chest, eyes only going towards the timer, uncertain how many moments had been spent regarding cookie dough over the actual ones in the oven. “He is spoiled enough,” hastened in response, rolling his eyes in the direction of Evie and the peryton alike. For his efforts, Belial tilted his head, confused and perplexed and uncertain all at the same time, clearly outmatched in how he might help. Considering how often Deimos simply plucked him out of the sky when he was being naughty and nefarious, the carnivorous deer may not have had much to bargain with. Zuriel was a lost cause anyway, opening her eyes briefly to see they were all being stupid, and then closing them to resume her nap by the hearth. Another plan already rallying its way through his mind, the Sword intended to try for a peace offering before the next interval and wave of stupidity. They had a few more minutes to spare – judging by the timer and the aroma coming from the oven. Still clutching, despite her wriggling and poor attempts at evasion, he kept her well over his shoulder, only swinging sharply to pretend to snag at something, head tilting vaguely in her direction. “Do you yield?” Because he could always make it worse. "We can share."
