and then we mend again

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The buoyancy and joy flickering over his senses had his prickly, irritated nature confused – brows furrowing as he pried another shingle from its denizen, gone to the rest of its broken and discarded brethren down below. Recognizing it moments later as Noah’s, he straightened out his stature from the roof, puzzled and perplexed all the more. The Sword would probably feel foolish for not guessing outwardly as to the hows and whys, but with nothing but hours of work in front of him, his machinations had been centered squarely on alleviating the current issue. The Sentinel’s voice called out an instant later, and Deimos leaned over the side, cupping his hands around his mouth as his low rumble carried. “Yes. Fixing the roof.” Rather than muddle and mire about in uncertainty, he jutted his jawline towards the advisor. “Something happen?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace