[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

Despite the notion that they’ve reverted straight back into children, Deimos was not the least bit bothered. Kiada bowed her elbows out and attempted to force him away from his brute, forceful kneading, shook more flour into his hair, and he had every assertion that he had no chance in the promised game. Nonetheless, the soldier had no intention of accepting defeat so easily, taking in his Pyrrhic victories, his brutal assaults, the sieges upon his person with the grace of a dignified warrior – until turnabout became fair play. He could hear Amalia’s gasp of oh no, but it was far too late to even muddle his pursuits. He shoved Kiada back with a ramming motion of one shoulder, and while the movement wasn’t anointed or consecrated in his overwhelming might and vigor, he hoped it’d be enough to settle some form of vengeance or payback. It was all in merriment, in fun, in jubilation, and he hadn’t heard such a thing, had such a series of moments, in so long that he took none of it for granted, grasped hold and clenched it along the frozen, glacial parameters of his being. His laughter reverberated and ricocheted, amusement spreading through his veins, and only dissipated when they were inclined to listen to directions again. The Reaper watched as Amalia demonstrated; though there was a certain flair there that she might have conjured for the sake of showing off – he narrowed his eyes and snorted, but said naught. He rolled his dough out, but not nearly as fluid or graceful, following the instructions with careful, scrupulous aplomb, forever diligent in his actions, calculating. His machinations didn’t end there, however. While they flattened out edges and designed shapes, his gaze took in Jigano, leaning in towards Kiada again with a conspiring whisper beckoning, nefarious quarters and summons, through his lungs. “Look at him. Hardly any flour at all.” The great beast shook his head, more of the aforementioned powder flickering off his form and onto the floor, his fingers sketching out a rough outline of a snowflake along his dough (almost without thought at all; a picture always framed in his mind, banners behind his eyes). “I suggest we join forces.” He arched his brow at her, then leaned back, pretending to be completely absorbed in his task, fingers working out the rest of the roping sanctions, nose inhaling the sweet and spicy scents pervading the sanction. When his fingers touched along the flour again, they might’ve appeared quite innocent, but the rogue, wicked demeanor was still alive and incensed, kindled in his motions, as he swiftly gathered up a large quantity in his palm. While Jigano seemed occupied, he tossed the mess overhand, hoping it spread along the depths of the man’s clothing, visible and obvious. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate