[PQ] No admittance, except on party business

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Remi’s excitement was a palpable, tangible thing – Deimos simply didn’t know how to respond to it. Instead, he stood there for a few moments, glancing around at the other things laden nearby, eyes ghosting over the samples Amalia had brought (and he’d subsequently carried), and then back to attention when the alchemist started giving directions. He’d be in charge of creation: which ordinarily wouldn’t bother him at all – quietly fond of hastening knives and shields for friends, comrades, and allies; though it was mildly disappointing to hear that none of those things were currently required. Or that Amalia and Remi would simply get to eat. His stare riveted back to the baker, even though his mind was occupied by schemes, noting necessities: string, a brazier, confirming his assurances with a nod. Before wandering past the tray table with the cakes, and sneaking a caramel swirl pastry in his grasp. Then he maneuvered to the back, a little ways from the rest, concentrating while munching, content for the moment: mind conforming to the images laden in his skull, bringing crimson strands of ribbon to life, in between fingers and palm, before winding it together, and then separating them into two. He made sure none of the ends were frayed, perfected, in accord with rituals and rites. The brazier took a tad bit longer, only because he started coating emblems into the sides: stars and unicorns, just a few hints of knives embedded into the design, so by the time he’d finished, it came out in darker shades, the emblems scrawled with the barest hints of their existence – seen in a certain light, with suitable flames. The frame itself wasn’t very tall, and he had to take Remi’s current sight into consideration, but left it large enough so it wouldn’t insult the man. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace