Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
“Or maybe a Caido thing,” shrugging his shoulders again, recalling the number of occasions where a majority of them were in some means of trouble. Conveniently leaving out and forgoing his own instances of trial and tribulation; nowadays his strength was a paramount, and could readily admit it. “Years ago you would have blamed us Outlanders,” but he winked just the same; no hard feelings about the discourse between Naturals and those dragged and brought here against their will – striving to find their place.At the threat, he snorted, rolling his eyes but taking the notion for what it was worth. “I would set it on fire,” as a warning to not waste the paper, with a smug little grin thereafter. He could always toss the tome into the hearth too. As for pies, he could only heave another grandiose sigh. “I suppose. Maybe the cookies will last longer.” (They wouldn’t).
Brows furrowed slightly at the next response, mostly because he’d never received it before. Rolling the consideration around in his head, he leaned back against the counter again, compelling another round of the desserts their way via Air magic as he thought, a restless notion. If there’d been a weapon in his hands it’d be tossed from side to side, sliding along palm to palm. A deeper rumble followed suit, as fingers toyed, twisted, and turned the makeshift banshee in his grasp. “It is not wasteful or silly. You should see the targets I make.” For nothing but spite and pettiness and bludgeoning an adversary’s nose; at least paints had the ability to render something in beauty and art. The Sword had always been a purposeful crafter; Evie’s contentment existed in there somewhere. But if she didn’t want it, he wouldn’t push the issue. “If you are sure,” The offer would still stand in silence anyway, as he arched a brow back in her direction.
