so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
He can agree with Flora easily on the fact that it was all very weird and strange, yet it’s to Maea’s pale gaze that his blackened ones find, a tension beginning to thrum under bronze skin, precisely where Flora remains wound around his arm. The pale Ancient’s voice causes him to immediately bristle, his voice dropping some of the more polite etiquette that he always harbors to drop into a more rough tone of Whitebrim (aka; the accent is thick now).
“Excuse me? You do not get to act like you know me.” He starts to say, taking a sharp inhale as if he intends to tell her precisely the ways they were different when it came to their triggers and their traumas, how he at least knew what sparked his and how he did his damndest to avoid it. It’s why he ran in the first place, not that it mattered to her when she’d followed him anyway.
Ah, but Flora’s voice is the mediator, and the second it reaches the butcher’s ears, his lips are already curled in distaste, a grimace of sharp teeth on full display that soften with the truth of what the Queen says. His shoulders relax almost immediately, his free hand lifting to press against his temple for a moment, trying to regain some of that composure.
“You are right. Let’s go.” He nearly grits out, softened by the queen’s hand on his arm, tugging him along. He doesn’t give Maea the satisfaction of looking back at her, instead his dark honeyed gaze remains focused on Flora as they walk away.
— FIN <333
“Excuse me? You do not get to act like you know me.” He starts to say, taking a sharp inhale as if he intends to tell her precisely the ways they were different when it came to their triggers and their traumas, how he at least knew what sparked his and how he did his damndest to avoid it. It’s why he ran in the first place, not that it mattered to her when she’d followed him anyway.
Ah, but Flora’s voice is the mediator, and the second it reaches the butcher’s ears, his lips are already curled in distaste, a grimace of sharp teeth on full display that soften with the truth of what the Queen says. His shoulders relax almost immediately, his free hand lifting to press against his temple for a moment, trying to regain some of that composure.
“You are right. Let’s go.” He nearly grits out, softened by the queen’s hand on his arm, tugging him along. He doesn’t give Maea the satisfaction of looking back at her, instead his dark honeyed gaze remains focused on Flora as they walk away.
— FIN <333
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
