Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Midday loomed, and by then, the Sword had finished the stacks of paperwork. Stretching up from his desk, restless and slightly irritated, he snagged at a few snacks nearby, and wound his way through the halls of the barracks, following familiar pathways he could likely navigate blind, until he meandered amidst the rest of his comrades. Some paused in their ministrations, glancing his way to see if any commands would rise from the deep rumble of his tones, but when he gave them all a wave of his hand and continued onward, they settled back into their routines and stances.Stuffing the remains of the vegetables in his mouth, he made for the climbing wall, hands snagging at familiar holds, angling upwards and upwards until his muscles resolved with determination, and the steadfast tenacity was a pull to his mind; content, satisfied. Once he reached the top though, he felt half-inclined to be a nuisance, standing upon the summit of its proportions, gazing out over nearby roofs, at the snow laden nearby. Deimos could easily snag at some and volley them down at the rest of his flock, or any unsuspecting passerby. The notions remained for an instant longer, until his great vantage and height allowed him to see the Sentinel close by.
Cupping his hands, the echo of his voice ranged across the grounds. “Noah,” to which he immediately launched a snowball in the man’s direction.
