[PQ] [seasonal event] kindness keep a lonely company

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

The introductions continued, and despite the mischief in the air, starting and corresponding directly from his own actions, he nodded at the formal audience with Jigano. He didn’t really know the man at all, aside from gatherings, but there was often a lot of yelling and complaining amidst the fold, and Deimos rarely said much of anything. Loreseeker and bard was an intriguing combination – scholar and singer – and he had half a notion to ask him what tunes or vocals inspired him, but the mention of taste-testing sparked a more devious inclination. “Perhaps we can sneak some,” he whispered, purposefully hushed, drawing his eyes back over to Amalia as she was giving directions to the other participants. It was devilishly induced, but only because he presumed she wouldn’t mind, and because he’d truly like to taste the relish of sweet and spice mixed together; forever snatching his mother’s baking off countertops and rushing out the door before she could catch him. Then there was Kiada – who was just as nefarious as he, wicked beings from wicked places, unimpressed or amused by his veracity. He shrugged, gaze flicking back and forth between mother and daughter, and while key notes and differences were there, Rexanna was still ultimately blood of her blood – but with his subtle motions, he’s opened himself up to full frontal assault, instantly doused and coated in flour, especially in his beard, and the front of his chest. Perhaps a rational demon would be more composed by the sudden siege, but Deimos held too much iniquity in the depths of his existence – a looming, impish grin enfolding itself across his features. The puncturing, piercing shade of his stare registered the bowl of flour again, placing his palms entirely in its container until they were coated white. Then he reached for her face, attempting to grab hold (gently, squeezing them a smidge just to see her look a bit like a fish; he wasn’t a total barbarian) of her cheeks with the lacquer of fresh flour still stuck to his skin. “Would I lie to you?” He gazed at her, that ridiculous rogue smile lingering on his lips, before dragging his palms across her features, releasing her with devilish delight, fully intending to leave the pale remnants on her skin. Vengeance crooned its way through him as a bellowing laugh, before altering his attention back to Amalia. Kneading meant he would be able to beat and pulverize the dough, watching the baker in her methodical measures, then attempting to follow suit. He grabbed hold of the mass and rammed his hands into its containments, turning the dough over while listening to her sudden proclamation – eyes glowing again in their irrepressible tendencies towards mischievous ease. Game on. His movements were quick, sudden, and swift, and though he wasn’t on a battlefield, not on any stage or dais of war, the impulses and precision were still there, molded right into his bones, his elements, his presence. His hands dove right back into the flour bowl, sending fistfuls in various directions, sailing towards poor Jigano, who likely hadn’t deserved any of the melee, to Amalia, because he wasn’t about to leave her out, and to Kiada, who required constant payback. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate