Soup is for Pussies
Some three hours after little Oizys flounced out in a sobby mess, there was yet another form making themselves comfortable on Momo's bed.
And it wasn't Kakia's cat.
...
Does Kakia have a cat?
...
Whatever, anyway.
Deimos stretched comfortably where he was sprawl on top of the covers next to the ailing God, one arm reaching above his head to absently grip the headboard while the other propped the cig between his lips. Chicken soup sat next ot him on the bedside table, cooling slowly and giving off savory smells. Not that Deimos cared.
Inhaling slowly, the Daimon tipped his head back and puffed smoke rings into the air over the bed. If Momos didn't wake up soon, he was going to eat his lame ass soup, then jump on the bed until something cracked.