myshonokk-blog

[myshonokk-blog]

[myshonokk-blog]

Just because Deimos had offered the question to be posed didn't mean he was under any obligation to answer it. That had been true from the start, though dependent on the question as to how he would react. He gazed on at Clive with a feeling akin to awe. Of all the questions in the world, he chose this? He could have asked about Cain's background (something Deimos likely would have denied confessing for Cain's sake), or Deimos' direct relation to him (another he would skimp on for his own pleasure)... But instead he posed an inquiry about this 'affection'?

A shadow of a smirk fell over Deimos' features, some level of mirth glinting within dark eyes as he gazed down upon the other. In that moment he felt quite powerful, able to wield the pen in his hand like a sword before Clive. He could spin a web of lies to hurt him, or the equally painful truth upon this little pad clutched in his hand. The other was trusting him, not the other way around. This was Deimos' game; and Clive had fallen right into his hands.

As if he would allow anyone to surpass him, to claim Cain from him. Of course, the brutal fighter had never been his...he knew that. But that did not mean he would give up his attentions without a fight. Clive was very much a rival in that sense. How delicately he could put this...but that was far from his intention. He wanted this to sting, to burn and fester long beyond the point the words had been issued.

After a pensive moment Deimos' pen tip moved to the paper, writing out his reply with deliberate slowness. And, following completion of the note, he held it up, refusing to relinquish such evidence from his grasp. And, jotted upon the yellow slip stood the following:

You truly are a fool to think to call it 'affection'.

He paused, waiting for Clive to read the entirety of the note. And following, he stepped forward, one hand sweeping over the surface of Clive's desk, clearing some papers off of the clear protective coat. He pressed the note before Clive's eyes, another following for the other to read.

But if it is those gestures of intimacy that you mean...one could say they are not uncommon at all.

A third, and final followed:

Of all the questions to ask...I must say I am a little surprised...

Deimos' expression was set in a phantom of a smirk, one hand removing itself from his pocket at this point. He leaned upon the edge, a fresh lighter revealing itself from his pocket. A mild click resounded, the next moment the yellow pages before Clive curling up in the glow of the flame, leaving no shred of evidence behind. Following, Deimos merely leaned in further as the traces slowly crippled into ash. Cain didn't need to know of this. No one did. And he would be sure only Clive would receive his words, lips pausing to hover against the other's ear as he parted his lips to issue the first words he had ever spoken to his 'rival'. And perchance...the last.

"Really..." He began, his tone soft and strained from lack of use when he spoke, "It's like you don't know him at all..."

Blonds over Brunettes

The silent moment gives him time to think, at least. Deimos replies to him with what seems to be, almost, exasperation. Perhaps he’d heard these accusations before many times, or maybe it’s because of the occurrences just a few minutes ago…

With that on mind, Clive takes the note in his hands and rereads it a few times, just to be sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Why was Deimos being so… compliant all of a sudden? Surely he could find plenty of reasons to despise his guts, couldn’t he?

This is the prime opportunity he never thought he’d be given. There’s a lot he wants to know about his roommate, about Deimos himself, and about this war and just exactly what it’s like up in space. He’d love a visual for the scenery, but he’d rather much delve into the social bounds. The men (assuming they had no women on their base) had to adhere to standards, surely. And even more surely was that Cain and Deimos both were outstanding citizens.

There are a few assumptions he can make— that the difference between fighters and navigators, as Cain had called them, is great; that fighters are usually users of brute force, but Deimos makes up his lack of strength with cunning tricks; that the base is a very, very different place than this high school. Maybe he could ask Deimos to paint the picture for him.

But that’d just be a waste. If he wants to know so much about life in space, he could just pry the answer out of Cain. This question, it would have to be something that only Deimos could answer. Not one he could infer, not one he could learn by just observing.

Of course, curiosity is always a fail-safe.

Clive folds the paper up and hands it to Deimos and clears his throat. “Tell me, generally how often does Cain get… affectionate like this?”

And even jealousy could have shared a part in it.

He tries playing off the searing memory of a bite by rolling his shoulders, playing off the fact that yes, indeed he’s quite tired for today.

[myshonokk-blog]

Deimos was no fool. He was conscious of the fact that he meant little to Cain-- and ant beneath his shoe, so to speak. No, to Cain Deimos was nothing but a tool to be used as he saw fit. The subject seemed almost weary to Deimos, who was accustomed to this fact and acknowledged it internally every time their eyes met. However, sometimes he seemed to forget that others were not privy to such information. Surely he was a rival in Clive's eyes... That idea was almost laughable.

Deimos shook his head at Clive's inquiry about whether this was anything new for Cain. Far from it in actuality. At least the other had gathered that much. Although the one-sided exchange of their own language had seemed quite misleading. But Deimos was conscious of the fact that Cain was just trying to pay Clive back for trying to humiliate him in such a manner. in that aspect...Deimos supposed he did know more than Clive about Cain. But he had the time to, after all.

The young brunette now reclaims the notes, crumpling them up within his hand before tucking them into his pocket. On the off chance Cain did come around this desk again he didn't need him locating the notes and figuring out the context of them. This conversation was a private one...though unlike Clive, Deimos' means of communication required the eradication of all traces of evidence as well...

Clive's next words sounded too familiar...too personal. It was rather in the way that one would talk to an acquaintance. Not a coworker...and certainly not a rival in love. He was confiding this feeling of being played, and Deimos couldn't find he blamed him for it, watching on with unassuming, rapt attention. Clive was by no means dull, after all. He knew as well as Deimos what was going on here. Although Deimos, to his good fortune...had more information by which to assess the situation than this newsboy.

His silence was grave, but soft expression a form of understanding in his own way. After all, he was living what Clive believed to be experiencing every day. He could only wonder whether the other would take the same route he himself had...becoming subservient to Cain, abiding by his every will. Clive was strong, surely he would act beyond that... Then again, Deimos has assumed the very same of himself...

"......"

There was a methodical pause where Deimos scrawled another note, pressing it before the other. And, while the actual content was very straight and to the point, there nevertheless lurked an underlying meaning behind the frank businesslike tone that went with it.

If you have any questions for me, now is the time to ask.

Blonds over Brunettes

Ah, well then. Clive replaces his wallet and makes a mental note to see that he reimburses Deimos somehow.

Once again, the man is on the move, his fingers orchestrating sparse words on little notepads. Clive watches silently, head propped up in his hand. He’s a bit… surprised that he’s not bothered by Cain’s little rebuttal. He can rest assured if he knows that kisses are thrown around like they’re nothing by him. He knows that very well.

It’s at this point Clive almost feels sorry for Cain. Has he ever felt sincere contact? When was the last time a kiss didn’t require such gratifying feeling? His roommate doesn’t bother him much anymore, he finally concludes.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, don’t apologize. I’m quite used to it by now. I’m supposing this is nothing new for him?” he asks, amusement in his eyes as he watches Deimos write another line.

Yes, this must be normal, he’s sure of it. Deimos must know very well his short lived display of affection was out of spite. Clive can’t let it get to him, should it eat up his attention again. No, instead, his concern is reaching for Deimos, for his undying loyalty to a ruthless man. If there is anything Clive can learn from this, it’s that whatever relationship Deimos has with Cain is one he’ll never be able to surpass, that is definite.

So, it’s a shame Deimos is admitting this. Clive blinks at the note for a second before waving it off with his hand. “I wouldn’t say… taken, per se. I live with him, and I suspect he’s just tugging me around to see my limits. Neither would I say I enjoy being seen as an experiment like this, but I can play this game he’s setting up.”

At least, he’s hoping so. It’s going to be a tiring road that he’s planning to take.

[myshonokk-blog]

{ Oh. Is it time for the midnight yaoi? Clive. Cain. Watchin' you. }

[myshonokk-blog]

The kiss wasn't entirely expected, catching Deimos off guard as his chin was taken in hand. There was something a little distasteful about receiving such a gesture directly after he'd caught Cain infringing on Clive's own personal space...but even so, Deimos could not find it in himself to object. He merely shut his eyes, returning the kiss. Although it was swiftly over, leaving Deimos with a bought of confusion he never thought he'd feel in following such a gesture. After all, Clive was still very much present...and it did not take much insight to know that there was nothing sincere about Cain's kiss...he was playing Deimos against Clive. And the young fighter wasn't entirely sure he was satisfied with that.

Cain departed then, leaving the pair of them very much alone. It was only then that Deimos was able to refocus his gaze to Clive's face, mutely attempting to read the emotion that was written there. Was he upset? There had to be no doubt he was...though whether it was at Deimos himself wasn't clear until the other spoke.

One hand reached forward onto Clive's desk, taking up one of the many little post-it packets that had come to litter their desks. And there was a very good reason why, after all. As Deimos had needed to take up the task of cleansing their desks of the little slips every week. However, mid-week the little slips had come to dominate any spare surface (although that didn't amount to much), Deimos' neat script scrawled across each one. As such, he felt a tad guilty in issuing yet another. But just the same he began to write, keeping his gaze from Clive's own only until the final moment where he pressed the note before his eyes.

If it's for Cain, it is no trouble to me.

Forward. Perhaps too forward. But there was nothing in Deimos' expression that read as bitterness. He did not look upon Clive with any semblance of disgust or rivalry. If anything...he could only feel pity for the other who had been swept up in Cain's web...though not as much as he felt for himself. And it was at this point that Deimos returned his gaze down to write, offering another note atop the first that was just as brief and to the point as the last.

I apologize...for his behavior.

Cain was doing this very deliberately, trampling over the feelings of those close to him... It was his way of exerting control. But if he was doing this to Clive as well then...

A last note joined the others.

He seems quite taken with you...

Blonds over Brunettes

[myshonokk-blog]

The pride Deimos took in being able to provide for Cain was both vast and brittle. To have Clive seek his experience on the matter concerning the other fighter was a pressuring flattery the brunette couldn't deny. Knowing what Cain needed from just that brief close proximity was something he felt was to be commended, to be praised for. But he put no high hopes in the other's measure of courtesy. If anything he might get a rough grunt one might attribute as being thanks. Either way, his current state of feeling contented with his astute nature was short-lived. Even Cain's parting snap had not put a damper on his mood. But the rare genuine smile that lit up his face was dashed from his features as quickly as it had been mounted.

A lock of lips was not an unfamiliar sight to Deimos, although most men were entirely more covert about their secret escapades. After all, discovery would mean big trouble up in space; the commanders were no fan of 'love on the battlefield'. It was a distraction, and one they would have been persecuted harshly for. And Deimos had to say he agreed with them...

For in his absence, the young fighter had to doubt entirely how much work of the material sort had been accomplished since he'd left. What words had been exchanged to reach this point were a mystery to him. But the proverb did stand that 'actions speak louder than words'.

Whether it was resistance that Clive employed, or some expression of playful banter...Deimos was ignorant to it, gaze instead fixed to the bead of red slowly blossoming upon Cain's lips. Hands tightened on the carton he'd procured from a nearby shop, his mind far from the nicotine Cain had been craving so...as he seemed to have satisfied his desires in another way. It looked as if his previous bad mood had been assuaged, instead leaving an expression free of the usual tense lines Deimos had often witnessed.

Perhaps Clive had been wrong. Deimos wasn't the one Cain had needed after all.

But this wasn't news to him in the least...

Familiar silence followed Deimos' return. And, although his efforts remained in attempting to keep any sample of emotion from rising to his features; he could still feel his heart clench and unclench painfully at the sight. Hesitation barred him no longer, small quiet steps bringing him before Clive's desk, opposite the considerably cozy pair. There was no trace of anger to his motion in resting the carton he'd retrieved on the surface of the desk before Cain, ever so slightly dented from the firmness of his grip. Even so, he could not bring himself to meet their eyes. The wound afflicted upon his heart was great enough without that final affront.

Blonds over Brunettes

[myshonokk-blog]

The sight of Cain at the door made Deimos' mood brighten swiftly. However, his words merely knocked it back down once more. Something was bothering him, that much was obvious. Though what the culprit could be was not immediately determined.

Averting his gaze at the sharp way Cain addressed him, Deimos kept his head down, not wanting to incur further ire from the other fighter. Although, his curiosity was peaked with confusion as to why the other seemed so unsociable. He had a few guesses...but determining the cause wasn't as easy as one would like to think.

Turning his gaze instead over to Clive, he was surprised by the sight of the other. Dark eyes once more moved to the ground, brows furrowing in mute puzzlement. In that small glance he had taken note of trembling shoulders, a trait Deimos wasn't immediately able to differentiate between anger or sadness. Though what cause the other had to feel sorrow, he couldn't say.

But the other was full of surprises, that was certain. While Deimos had initially thought he would assert himself in being the one to remedy the issue, Clive instead took the time to speak quietly to him, to pass the duty off to Deimos instead. Granted, that could have just as easily been Clive throwing him under the bus as genuine concern for Cain, and the belief that Deimos could do more good than himself.

Offering a slight nod, Deimos now lifted his head, closing the distance between himself and Cain as Clive resumed his 'work'. In approaching the other fighter anyone who knew Cain would find that the cause for his agitation was immediately obvious. Although, only in this close proximity. Just to be sure, Deimos moved a little closer.

Yes, he was certain of it... There was no lingering stench of smoke clinging to Cain's clothes, either fresh nor stale. When was the last time he had had a cigarette, exactly? This Deimos wondered silently, reaching out to brush his hand gingerly over Cain's knee, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance. And, lips sealed as they ever were, he instead moved towards the door, making as if to tap his imaginary watch at Clive, following up by holding up an open palm, five fingers indicating he would return in five minutes. And it was with that he took his leave, determined to remedy the situation before it spiraled out of control.

Blonds over Brunettes

[myshonokk-blog]

Deimos' intended tone seemed accurately conveyed through his brief message, as Clive looked appropriately shamed in retrospect. Did he realize the full measure of his words? Perhaps so... However, this was as much a concern for Deimos as it was a relief. After all, Deimos' affections were not something he enjoyed being on display. To the other fighters word of his fondness for Cain would perhaps not have been a complete shock...but his business was generally private, much like that of the other members above.

'That's none of your business', Deimos wished he could say. As innocent as the front the other put up was, that seemed to be all Deimos thought it was. That Clive was deliberately trying to upset him, to push him too far. Not that it was really anything genuine of him.

Hands balled into fists at his sides, the crumpled up post-it nestled deep into the confines of one. He gazed on at Clive, deliberately attempting to keep his expression devoid of the mute struggle he was having with his reply.

What was he to Cain...?

No answer came. However, Deimos found himself rescued by the familiar creak of the door, startling him into turning around, standing before Clive's desk. His hands at his sides immediately loosened, the crumpled yellow square dropping to the ground as he instead set his sights upon the familiar face of the new arrival.

Blonds over Brunettes

At this, Clive is about ready to shrink down into his chair. Honestly, it was a slip of the tongue. He is very aware of the affection Deimos has for his roommate, and joking about it was extremely dry humor on his part. But how is he supposed to go about apologizing for it without sounding imposing? Clive is quite sure he already sounds like that.

His eyes drift down to the floor, and his head droops just ever so slightly. He’ll grow a mane of gray by the time he’s done talking to Deimos. He feels that he needs to watch himself far too much just to avoid getting on his bad side. How much more to get on his good side? Just what kind of relationship did they even have?

Clive decides it’s time to find out. The post-it is in his hands— not to keep, but just to avoid Deimos crumpling this one up— and he steeples his fingers under his chin. “Oh, you weren’t roommates up in space? How do you two know each other?”

[myshonokk-blog]

That silence was far too long for Deimos to consider himself comfortable with the situation. Albeit the laugh was light and airy, there was much behind Clive's veiled expression that Deimos could tell he wouldn't be privy to. The other seemed just as secretive as Deimos was in his silence, setting the fighter on edge. It wasn't in his nature to allow himself to be upstaged or deceived. It bothered him to think Clive was under the impression he would be able to pull the wool over Deimos' eyes.

He stiffened, muscles tensing once more as he rose from his seat. Dark eyes narrowed, indicating that he would not be fooled. And though Clive made light of living with Cain, how strenuous it must have been, Deimos could feel nothing short of frustration. He would have given most anything to be in Clive's place...and he didn't even know the extent of it. To claim his place as the one 'fated' to meet with Cain, to reside with him...there were no lengths to which Deimos would not go.

He listened to Clive's comment about their living situation in silence, writing hand moving very briefly, after which he crumpled up the previous question he'd had in hand, tucking it into his pocket. And, wordlessly, he pressed the next and final post-it to Clive's work, the writing upon it dark with the strained and tense press of pencil to paper. Though it only read three words:

I wouldn't know.

Blonds over Brunettes

The question honestly grabs him by surprise. He spends a much longer time than necessary thinking about the answer. And suddenly, his shoulder is burning again— he would have thought that the bite he’d gotten from Cain would have disappeared by now… He shifts in his chair.

On top of all the times he’s butt heads with his roommates, it’d all accumulated to when he woke up with the red string tied to his finger. He was never one for folklore, but finding a legend to be real was beyond imaginable. It’s now when Clive realizes that find the string might have toyed with his thinking. If he and Cain were ‘fated to meet’ it doesn’t mean he was going to fall head over heels for his roommate.

Clive nods, laughing. “Yes, we are. He’s proven to be quite the living partner.”

[myshonokk-blog]

Predictably, Clive was met with silence as Deimos accepted the paper, skimming it with interest. He had initially agreed to join solely for the purpose of keeping tabs on Clive as Cain had requested... But it seemed the former had been doing that well enough on his own. Still, Deimos' knack for information-gathering had proven useful in the long run. Insight didn't come easy after all, nor at a low price. If truth was what one sought in this school, you had to know the right people to talk to after all.

The concealment of Clive's more important documents did not escape Deimos' notice. Though no more than a flicker of his gaze to Clive's efforts to stash them away showed he took any notice. He didn't expect Clive to trust him after all, nor would he extend the same courtesy.

There was a long pause before Deimos next made a motion, usually deft and sure digits hesitating as they reached for a pen settled upon Clive's desk. At this point he procured a familiar stack of post-it notes that had thus been whittled down day by day with Deimos' limited communication. His desk was littered with them, and often Clive's as well. But not a scrap of yellow shone upon Cain's own.

Deimos seemed to have finished writing. But still he was still and silent, debating a long moment before drawing the post-it from the stack. However, he did not hand it over, having a great aversion to the other possessing such physical evidence of his query to relate back to Cain himself.

You and Cain are roommates, correct?

The paper read. However in Deimos' features there yet lay the unbidden 'Just roommates...?'

Blonds over Brunettes

There’s one thing Clive has definitely learned to do when talking to Deimos— the man in front of him drops very subtle hints about his thoughts. And if that’s so, Clive can infer that… Deimos was never very good at holding Cain either, was he? He’ll admit, the short month he’s known Cain, he’s had a very difficult time keeping his attention for very long.

As Deimos retrieves a chair, Clive shoves his profiling material into a drawer in his desk. If they’re going to be sitting together, there’s no need to share his work like this.

“The ask column has been slow this week, so I’m waiting for next week to answer any questions,” he states, sliding the paper to Deimos. “If anything, I’m considering it a small break for Cain. He’s been doing a great job so far.”

[myshonokk-blog]

Deimos almost looked as if he could relate, the previous hard line to his lips softening ever so slightly. So Clive had the same troubles in reigning Cain in? Well, not that he was a man you could ever keep tabs on. Delivering information to the fighter was near impossible, considering he was one who couldn't be found if he didn't want to be. There were his usual haunts of course: in the fighting simulator, spending time with the other dogs that populated the mess hall and recreational room set aside for fighters... And then there was his room in particular. But Cain had made if very clear in conversations prior...Deimos wasn't permitted anywhere near there. He would only be interrupting, after all...

After a long moment, Deimos finally lowered his eyes to the other's desk instead, spotting a few untended papers upon which were posed questions to PILOT. They appeared unanswered thus far. Hopefully Cain would drop by soon to do his duty...although the fighter hated to think that this behavior of his was a deliberate attempt to give the two 'ladies' appropriate 'bonding time'.

Indicating the sheet of unanswered questions, Deimos reached to draw up a chair before Clive's desk, expression one of rapt attention. Just what sort of questions were people posing to the paper, he wondered.

Blonds over Brunettes

Ah, and now he’s coming to his desk.

Clive isn’t in any mood for a confrontation— when he’s working, all he wants his the best for his pride and joy and his paper. Not some garbled up drama from space. He could live without those.

So as Deimos approaches him, he stacks the papers on his desk in a pile to make room for the incoming files. His eyes are glazed over as he flips through Deimos’ paper. Clive has absolutely no qualms with the article in his hands, he’s sure, but perhaps he has one with its author.

He sits back and swivels his chair to look at Cain’s desk. “Honestly, I wish I knew where the man wandered off to sometimes,” he tells the other.

[myshonokk-blog]

A frown fixed itself on Deimos' features as he gazed back at the wave he was met with. For some reason the small gesture only proved to incure his ire further. Surely Clive was not intentionally making fun of him; but it truly felt that way. And Deimos, who was often the object of such ridicule and ill treatment, did not take kindly to it in the least. After all, the only person he would accept such mistreatment from was Cain himself. Did that make him desperate, a masochist? He couldn't say...but all he knew now was that Clive's gesture irritated him. Cain had said he had potential...but Deimos couldn't see it.

Mutely, he rose from his seat, papers grasped in his hand revolving around initial information gathered for the sports page. Composed in a neat and perfectly orderly stack (to be expected of the school's local secretary), he placed this on Clive's desk, dark eyes stilled upon the other's in turn.

Very suddenly, his gaze flickered over to the empty desk that would occasionally suit Cain's purposes, the silent inquiry being: "Where is Cain?" along with the implied "When will he be back?"

Blonds over Brunettes

Clive honestly enjoys the quiet bouts of work he can get in his office. If he were walking around in the hallways, a student was always there to ask him a question about an assignment. If he were to work in the dorm, his roommate would always prove a distraction.

On his desk is an array of pictures and papers, all set to a face. Working while under the open disapproval of a coworker does hamper Clive’s productivity a bit, and every now and then, he would have to raise his head and break his concentration a bit.

Because this time, he notices Deimos staring at him. He raises a hand and waves hello— hopefully that won’t upset him.

[myshonokk-blog]

Blonds over Brunettes

It would be unfair to say that Deimos detested Clive. But rather, he did feel an apprehension around him, a fear of being replaced. And so, it wasn't unusual for the young brunette to often allow his gaze to stray during their trials in the news room, each person confined to their individual desk.

Exactly what was it about Clive that Cain fancied? It couldn't have been his strict, bitter, and bland uppercrust British demeanor. That was nothing like Abel's more impulsive and reckless nature after all. Then...what was it they had in common?

The question was one that had come to light many times in Deimos' distracted daydreams of earning the other fighter's respect and attention. But he could conclude that there was nothing they had in common. Nothing at all save for...perhaps the lightness of their locks.

But surely hair short of ebony wasn't all it would take to earn Cain's affections... The other could be shallow, but that was pushing things to the brink.

It was at this point that Deimos realized he had perhaps held his gaze a fraction too long. What was more, the distaste showed on his features as he glared back at Clive. Once more the two were alone, and moment by moment Deimos could feel his loathing rising. How was this fair to him, after all? It simply wasn't.

[myshonokk-blog]

[myshonokk-blog]

Are you a gay fish?

"......"

{I imagine Deimos does not enjoy fishsticks.}

[myshonokk-blog]

Left to their mutual silence, Deimos wasn't initially sure how to address Cain. It was a rather inopportune time for him to walk in...at an occasion immediately following a point when they were getting along just fine. But Deimos had felt obligated to do his part to try to protect the other, even though he was certainly sure Cain would insist that he could protect himself. However, sometimes that safety needed to be secured with a more delicate hand. And Cain, for one, was an individual who knew nothing of the word 'delicate'. Not unless he meant to crush what was so fragile and weak.

Luckily, Clive didn't seem too interesting on doing any digging revolving around Cain. He had already hired him onto the newspaper himself, so Deimos didn't see the need for him to pry any more, and that was a vast relief. All he needed to know about Cain he could glean from living with him.

There was another sore point... At the idea of it Deimos couldn't help that small feeling of jealousy that bubbled up in his chest. First Abel, and now Clive had joined the other fighter's web... What chance did Deimos stand by now?

As the steps faded out into the distance along the hall, Deimos settled his gaze up to the other, lips formed into a thin line that betrayed nothing of the worries he actually felt; something that dark eyes reflected clearly. He wanted to at least know he'd done well in joining the paper, and that Cain was pleased just the same. Even that small measure of acknowledgement would make it worth it as far as he was concerned...

→ timing staff.

[myshonokk-blog]

mechalovaniac replied to your post: #deimos is going to slit clive’s throat in his...

yo on a more serious note should we end the newspaper thread on this last round or…

{ We could yes~ We still have a thread up and running I believe that we could continue or start a new one if you like! And then Cain and I were going to thread with Deimos doing what Deimos does best: giving Cain dirt on Praxis. uvu }