DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
It was within moments like these that he regarded it a shame he couldn’t communicate telepathically with the Evergreen; they would have to settle for a formidable stare and hushed tones later, before he ground his teeth down to nothing. Peeling apart another layer of bread and imagining it as someone’s effigy, he listened with narrowed eyes and a darkened countenance – wondering, if through all the haze, deliberation, and discussion, if anything had pierced through the young Dragoon’s skull.The bluster of heroics, for Deimos never did anything based on such merits, did nothing to appease or alter his stance, the reticent mask altering between narrowed eyes and a clear distemper brewing. Koa seemed to believe the greater impact of the issues had been Stormbreak itself, when the Sword thought he’d been clear and concise on the matter. He took another long, slow breath, a barb of mental preparation contorting its way through his lungs. “It is not trust that is the issue,” he pinpointed, though that probably lingered in there residually, after years of spurning and otherwise overt racism. “But the fact that you are intent on instilling a foreign army in lands not your own. In other worlds, that would be considered a provocation to invasion.” His furrowed brow arched at the semblances, waiting to see if that sparked anything. Halo, and he presumed the other kingdoms, had still yet to receive any missive, any note, any regards to the intentions – and so Deimos remained firm on his stance. It would be the Shields, and only the Shields, occupying a protective stance in Halo.
The next statement shocked him, to the point where he shook his head and wondered where the inquiry had come from. “A spar,” he announced flatly, as if he had heard incorrectly.
