Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of “cheating”. In Deimos’ mind it’d been anything but – not his fault he’d been taught to outmaneuver many an individual. The pout was worth the extra effort though, returning the favor with his boyish charm of a Cheshire grin at her gasping, squawking, and swatting to no avail.He snorted at the next attempt though, foolishly not permitting either of them to have any. His snicker dissolved into something reticent and unimpressed, a cross between his archaic nonchalance and the look he often gave Sah or Talyson when they were being ridiculous. It didn’t even justify a vocal response.
Her dash to the living room would be short-lived by his long strides and swift countermeasures, intentionally snaking an arm around her abdomen as she fled into the separate confines. Ordinarily that might’ve been the end of it – some teasing notion in her ear, some brazen word to permit her to beg and plead for escape. But the Sword had other intentions, attempting to lift her clean over his shoulder, bowl and all, like a sack of flour (ha). “I do not think so.” Belial, for all his efforts, simply sat upright and wagged his deer tuft of a tail.
