Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Already well gifted in the art of diversion and deflection, he persisted and continued with the tactical measures; figuring, perhaps, that she didn’t mind. The Cheshire grin remained as he copied the flour drawing into a cookie cutter form, amusing himself. He knew the baking wouldn’t be able to hold the mold quite as well, but not much stopped him when in juvenile pursuits, tilting his head as he listened to her, the smile dimpling the corner of one cheek. “Sounds like another good business angle for you though,” though he wasn’t certain about reattaching limbs. Tones and intonations were sarcastic and facetious, for they both knew how desperately he protected those he cherished, but sometimes couldn’t pass up the opportunity for devilry. “Set up a second apothecary in the middle of the desert, give lessons, mend the ones who did not do well.” The Sword rolled his shoulders in a shrug, and then placed the figure back amongst the others.The next onslaught was probably deserved, but he hadn’t expected his shirt and her hands to be the one that bound him from escape. There’d been potential in utilizing his strength to pull and drag her with him until she let go, however, the flour would’ve likely marred him just the same. The manner of calculations going through his mind didn’t much matter in the end, as a put-upon sad tilt to his whisper rumbled low in his chest. “Aww, not the beard,” - the white powder filtered into darker strands, and he gave an audible sigh as the streaks persisted further along his jawline and cheeks.
With a mind never quite done scheming, he glanced downward at their proximity, then to the flour – piercing eyes gazing over her features with an air of consideration, concentration honed as he dipped and tilted his head towards hers –
And then saw Belial, from the corner of his eye, hovering over the bowl.
Quickly, uncertain if Evie had been hauled along with his swift movements, he snagged at the container before the peryton could knock it to the floor, or taste test for himself. “No,” was a deeper rumble, and the companion seemed put out, pouting listlessly as he descended once more.
He snorted, then looked around at the mess, muffling the laughter. “Okay, a truce. For now.”
