Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
The Sword did have faith and confidence in her capabilities, so no denial followed. “Of course,” as if they’d always been hers. And though her steadfast determination would likely settle into an actual apothecary, and not some landshark ranch out in the middle of a harsh desert, it all meant the same in the end. That was how they lived, from resolution to resolution, with a little revolution tossed in between. Sometimes it was toppling dictators. Sometimes it was flour.With a simultaneous ceasefire and tenuous treaty, figures slid away from one another, resigned and released back to their own thresholds and bulwarks. For a moment, he could only stand there, the mighty General covered in egg and flour from the top of his monolithic height to his chest, surveying the landscape of the former battle scene. Glancing into the bowl, and then placing his sights back upon the counter, he heaved a sigh, though it didn’t lack humor either. “Yes.” The poor attempt at earlier ventures had garnered very little into the container – most had ended up on them, or the floor, or the work surface.
He maneuvered around then, snagging the flour bag out of the cabinets. Giving her a side-glance, he tucked it safely against himself, before pouring the right amount into the bowl. And then some more by the cookie cutters, for later purposes, rather than tossing it back into the melee. For now.
So while she stirred the mixture, he snagged at the greased pans nearby – checking over the oven as well, and brought them over for eventual food. Belial slunk off, head down but not meaning it at all, along the line of kitchen meeting dining room, waiting for another opportunity.
