<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Deimos</span><br/><br/>Deimos' expression soured when Lo's hand so tenderly caressed his cheek. Without warning, Deimos slapped the hand away with stinging force, "Don't touch me like that," he snarled, obviously not in the mood for any romantic whims. It was always a risk with the young God, some times he would respond favourbly, other times...<br/><br/>He had pulled away from Lo, as if his touch sickened Deimos, ignoring him for the majority of when Lo dressed him, lips still pressing against his brow despite Deimos' little fit earlier. Deimos merely pursed his lips stubbornly, accepting that gentle kiss though not acknowledging or reciprocating to it.<br/><br/>When Ambali was in the presence of Lo, Deimos made his entrance. Eyes slipped over the appearance of Ambali and her rotten young. He wasn't too fond of Ambali being able to predict even him, but thankfully she could do nothing of it, as her precious bundle of<em>sick</em>was at stake. His nose wrinkled, "I can't stand the sight of that horrid creature," he said through grit teeth, "But I can't have those insufferable good for nothing tools tear her to pieces alive, most unfortunately," he said, "You'd better keep the disgusting thing silent. I'm in a good mood, don't ruin it," he said. Very bizarre for this to be considered a good mood.<br/><br/>"Lo, I am exhausted, you will ready a cart for us to make our way to Limbo," he said, turning to Lo, "Be quick about it," he ordered, now being left alone with Ambali and her child. "Have you been able to tell any thing about him, wench?" Deimos asked. He asked her this often, speaking of the one and only Masked being that she had never met, the only one she couldn't seem to pinpoint and read, even memories others had of him were black, as if blocking her out.