Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Shifting back into human form, and minding the wounded shoulder, he rolled his eyes, barely moving from Noah’s shove. Rooted and planted on the crimson roof, and ignoring the potential onslaught from shopkeepers down below, he snorted. “Some of us cannot cheat by teleporting,” and he wrinkled his nose, stretching out the sore limbs and muscles, taking a long, slow breath as they contorted under the nuances. His gaze cast back down though at the sentiments, permitting a snort to rally through along the implications. “Anytime,” and he meant it – the Sentinel and the Sword had been through multitudes of shared dramatics, plots, and battles, but things like this were easy; unwinding paths of mischief and distraction. “Maybe Cordelia will let you back in the house now.”
From there, they could depart on whims and laughter, returning to freer states of mind.
{FIN}
