who we are and all that we're trying to be
Truth be told, Deimos couldn’t remember failing this much at something he enjoyed doing. Destruction. Demolition. Might. Menace. Stoked in his blood from the very god damned beginning. And now he was being shown up by a wall.
He’d long since stripped down any outer layers, now down to a simple shirt as muscles interplayed and frustrations loomed, seared right down into a firm sneer. There might’ve been a laugh ensued somewhere after Noah’s, but the vexation, the vehemence, was an enveloping schism, contorting and wrapping around his brain as he dug in, as he unleashed, as he swung, waiting, listening for cracks, and rushing forward to do it all again.
And eventually, as he wiped sweat off his brow and away from his neck, it came apart. He cast one glance at the open, empty space, and gave it over to someone who might’ve known what they were doing, placing the sledgehammer back where he’d found it. Taking a few moments to breathe, to stretch out the undulations of brawn, his eyes glanced over at the other options. “I will avoid the walls for now and try the table,” he announced – eyeing it warily, and only because he hadn’t been very successful in the latest bouts.
And it’d be a shame if he had to underestimate a table. So he went towards the area of assembly, perusing through Glas’s instructions, and strived to begin.
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Deimos tries to assemble the table!
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
