/// i'm uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional
i'm visceral, reloadable
i'm visceral, reloadable
Perhaps he should have known better. Either way, he thinks nothing of it as he trudges through the snow, a circle of flame around him to keep him warm enough for the trek. Relief only swells in his shoulders by the time he enters the penitentiary, and unknowing of his stalker does Astaroth easily charm the guards, words unheard until he’s slipped further in.
The general idea is the same, though, the fact they won’t need to worry about the prisoner for that much longer, paid in extra to let him take the prisoner out and away, though just how is left for the Butcher’s own discretion. The fox haired man is still cuffed, only bearing different ones this time as Astaroth guides him toward a different cell, and through the window Maea won’t be able to hear any of the words the butcher says, but it does appear as if he’s talking — all while he sheds his outer layers and begins to roll his sleeves up.
The general idea, though, is that the fox haired man picked the wrong establishment. This particular room, sound proof and far enough away from the other offenders, Astaroth has free reign as he enters the cell with that same too toothy smile and tension, with a knife that suddenly finds itself lodged into the other man’s shoulder. Blood spills and Astaroth’s tail waves like a content cat, drawing forward to pin the cuffed man to the bars, hand pulling out the knife to let the blood spill before he uses the bloody blade to lift the other man’s chin up, snarling something before his other hand moves to press against the bleeding wound, relishing in the touch of the hot blood.
The general idea is the same, though, the fact they won’t need to worry about the prisoner for that much longer, paid in extra to let him take the prisoner out and away, though just how is left for the Butcher’s own discretion. The fox haired man is still cuffed, only bearing different ones this time as Astaroth guides him toward a different cell, and through the window Maea won’t be able to hear any of the words the butcher says, but it does appear as if he’s talking — all while he sheds his outer layers and begins to roll his sleeves up.
The general idea, though, is that the fox haired man picked the wrong establishment. This particular room, sound proof and far enough away from the other offenders, Astaroth has free reign as he enters the cell with that same too toothy smile and tension, with a knife that suddenly finds itself lodged into the other man’s shoulder. Blood spills and Astaroth’s tail waves like a content cat, drawing forward to pin the cuffed man to the bars, hand pulling out the knife to let the blood spill before he uses the bloody blade to lift the other man’s chin up, snarling something before his other hand moves to press against the bleeding wound, relishing in the touch of the hot blood.
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy ///
everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
