HARPER
Deimos is certainly not the first reticent soul he has ever encountered, and Harper merely grins at his elusive answer. He isn’t one to pry, and likely wouldn’t be inclined to share his own reasons for being here if the Sword felt inclined to ask. Instead, it’s easier to be absorbed with tasks and goals. To focus on what can be fixed in the here and now. Even if that’s just scaring away some pesky birds.
Deimos’ laughter makes him preen, and his trumpeting warbles a funny note as the man inside desires to laugh in a way the animal cannot translate. Between both attempts, the hels speed off in a squawking cloud that leaves downy feathers to litter the deck of the lighthouse. Shifting his face back, Harper laughs brightly, hands high on his hips in triumph. “Huzzah! Good job partner,” he jokes, throwing a wink at Deimos before jauntily spinning on his heel to survey the mess anew. “Problem is, cleaning supplies aren’t exactly a common offering for a shrine. Think there’s a janitors closet downstairs?”
Deimos’ laughter makes him preen, and his trumpeting warbles a funny note as the man inside desires to laugh in a way the animal cannot translate. Between both attempts, the hels speed off in a squawking cloud that leaves downy feathers to litter the deck of the lighthouse. Shifting his face back, Harper laughs brightly, hands high on his hips in triumph. “Huzzah! Good job partner,” he jokes, throwing a wink at Deimos before jauntily spinning on his heel to survey the mess anew. “Problem is, cleaning supplies aren’t exactly a common offering for a shrine. Think there’s a janitors closet downstairs?”
