Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
As though swallowed up by some nightmare, Maea found that she couldn't move. Locked up inside her head, hammering the figurative door of whatever part of the brain that connected mind and body, helpless to make her own hands obey. A numbness had set in and it wouldn't let her shake off the shock and leap into action the way she wished to. If only she could shift, or conjure a spark of fire - but beyond feebly struggling to shift the questing hands from places where they didn't belong, her voice had locked up in the throat, all but choking her. Getting tired of my own words
It could have been hours, but in reality there was probably less than a minute or two that passed. Then light split the dark of the booth and a strong hand on her arm hauled her up onto her feet. Fire flared up around her, narrowing her view to nothing but light and the broad, solid safety of Asta's chest; she trembled in his grip, shock rendering her speechless.
As through a haze she could hear the russet-haired man's voice sounding from the booth, in a drawl that probably was meant to sound reassuring.
"Oh, come on now, we were just having some fun - I'll pay extra, yeah?" He made no move to get up, and met Astaroth's gaze with a raised brow as if this was nothing but another marketplace transaction.
The tall woman tried to pry the handle of the cane off her shoulder, glaring daggers at the Butcher, while the tattooed person was slowly inching away; no doubt attempting to melt into the crowd and make themselves scarce.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
