// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
“Why shouldn’t I be?” He asks, flashing her that same sharp grin and a raise of his brow playfully as she debates the deal and he steps aside, allowing her to make up her mind as he lets the seed within his own hand glimmer in the light as he moves it in his palm, his dark gaze tracking Thalassa as she saunters closer and he meets her sparkling blues. His head cocks with that sharp toothed grin still aimed at her, as she then decides and drops the seed into the hole he’s dug.
Another chuckle leaves him, smirking again. “Perfect.” He nearly purrs, his tail waggling contently behind him as he slips the seed in his hand back into his pocket so that he can bury hers and start on the hole for his own. “I suppose now I owe my dear Captain a song, don’t I?” He starts, the shovel piercing the ground with ease as he starts to make another pile of dirt.
“This one was often sung as celebration.” He explains, before he clears his throat and continues to dig through the dirt, picking up that jaunty tune. His voice is deep and his accent fades ever so slightly, warping into something else (as it turns out, the Butcher has quite a lovely singing voice).
“In a concoction of time, where the sun rises and sets,
Standing still is eternity; impossible to forget.
The bloodshed, trials, and pain we bear,
Are written in scars we are proud to wear.
Next time they’ll try, to take us one by one,
Only to see that we’ve already won,
And just like before, the time stands still,
Where the sun rises and sets, we devour our kill.”
Another chuckle leaves him, smirking again. “Perfect.” He nearly purrs, his tail waggling contently behind him as he slips the seed in his hand back into his pocket so that he can bury hers and start on the hole for his own. “I suppose now I owe my dear Captain a song, don’t I?” He starts, the shovel piercing the ground with ease as he starts to make another pile of dirt.
“This one was often sung as celebration.” He explains, before he clears his throat and continues to dig through the dirt, picking up that jaunty tune. His voice is deep and his accent fades ever so slightly, warping into something else (as it turns out, the Butcher has quite a lovely singing voice).
Standing still is eternity; impossible to forget.
The bloodshed, trials, and pain we bear,
Are written in scars we are proud to wear.
Next time they’ll try, to take us one by one,
Only to see that we’ve already won,
And just like before, the time stands still,
Where the sun rises and sets, we devour our kill.”
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
