tell me what you need

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

He wants to snap back a when?, but that conversation was on pause, far past it with the urge for the butcher to simply get out. Where? He doesn’t know. His room doesn’t seem appealing. Outside was too cold. The office seems like the only logical step of getting the fuck out, and maybe rummaging through Danta’s office for something else strong to bury his sorrows and anger in.

He pushes past the Maverick with surprising ease, but Danta doesn’t stop him, enough for him to reach the door and snort an annoyed sound before he shakes his head. “Enjoy yourself, Danta.” He snaps darkly instead, opening the door to step out and over the mess still remaining, hissing at it before he hears the clattering of something on the door and a specific shape of finger bones snapped off a gift he’d given, looking back over his shoulder toward Danta briefly with absolute upset crossing his face. “Oh, I see.” He grits out, amongst other unheard curses, steps picking up as he leaves the door wide open and the mess, heading immediately down the stairs toward his office as if nothing could stop him, rage burrowing in his chest in a painful slot he hadn’t known existed.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //