TW: mutilation
Phobos just sighed, left the milk on the counter where Deimos could find it easily, and headed back down to the basement. If he wanted to come down later, Phobos wouldn't stop him.
He clomped down the stairs, jumping over the last two and landing with a satisfying thud on the concrete floor. "I stuck the dismount!" he crowed, raising both arms in victory. "Anyway. Where was I...oh yes."
He turned to his weapons wall, fingers fluttering over his well-kept knife collection. He finally selected a filet knife, slender and sharp, and he flipped it once into the air, before catching it expertly and spinning around.
"So tell me," he began, making his way over to David. "Should we start with your eyes, or your tongue? I mean, you do like to yammer on and lie to my darling brother, so that's what I'm leaning toward."
Phobos tapped one finger against his lips, before nodding once. "Yeah, the tongue, I think." He grabbed David's jaw, and with one swift jerk, dislocated it. Now that he couldn't close his mouth, Phobos had much better access to get at the flesh of his tongue.
And he did. The blade was always kept sharp, and two good cuts had it severed and laying in Phobos' hand. Blood was pouring from the wound, staining his hands red, but Phobos didn't even care. War and bloodshed was where he had always thrived. He tossed the tongue over his shoulder, wondering if he should go for the eyes, as he'd previously thought, or there were other places to inflict even more damage.