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
“Ah.” Is all the butcher offers before he’s scrapping with the younger man again, latching onto his arm to twist until bones groaned but not before truly breaking Isar’s arm. He could, but he won’t. The second that the word give leaves the other man, Astaroth releases him, draws back and utilizes the table to stand (his bones are old and he sometimes needs the extra help), he takes a few seconds to try to dust himself off and put himself back into a semblance of being put together.
Gesturing to the remnants of the kill, aside from the hand, Astaroth inclines his head to Isar. “To a good fight.” There’s a tear in his pants where its bleeding, but he pretends not to notice. “Take your fill, leave me the hand.” Comes the instruction as he continues to work to put himself back together.
Gesturing to the remnants of the kill, aside from the hand, Astaroth inclines his head to Isar. “To a good fight.” There’s a tear in his pants where its bleeding, but he pretends not to notice. “Take your fill, leave me the hand.” Comes the instruction as he continues to work to put himself back together.
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
