so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
Unfortunately, or fortunately? For Isar, it’s a bit of all three, a creature, a person, and a meal. Because the shuffled sound is absolutely from a hidden corner, an offshoot into a room that looks as if it hasn’t been used in years. It has, today, specifically because there’s a familiar man within, standing beside a stone table with a few oddities amongst it. A torn apart ramphire carcass is the main feat, and beside it some pearly white bones that certainly don’t look like they belonged to any animal nearby.
(They don’t, because it really kind of looks like a human arm and all the bones in between).
And Astaroth, settled beside the hull of his prize, his fine clothes swapped out for white in order to be easier to clean, dips a handkerchief into a bucket of water, wiping away the blood from his throat and lips in a careful, casual motion, unexpected of company from this deep within and uncaring whether he is found.
Certainly the tang of iron in the air would either draw attention or divert it away.
And so, the Butcher continues to wipe away the evidence from his skin, caring little for how splattered his clothes are.
(They don’t, because it really kind of looks like a human arm and all the bones in between).
And Astaroth, settled beside the hull of his prize, his fine clothes swapped out for white in order to be easier to clean, dips a handkerchief into a bucket of water, wiping away the blood from his throat and lips in a careful, casual motion, unexpected of company from this deep within and uncaring whether he is found.
Certainly the tang of iron in the air would either draw attention or divert it away.
And so, the Butcher continues to wipe away the evidence from his skin, caring little for how splattered his clothes are.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
