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
Godsdamnit.
It’s the one running thought through the butchers head as he steps away, halted by the way Danta’s words pierce and cut. Enough that his horned head and tousled hair hunches between his shoulders. Gnashing his teeth together, his grip tightens on the bag, white knuckled as Danta leaves his door open, as the words continue to barb and poke.
He finds his feet carrying him back before he has a moment to think about it. Lingering by the doorframe, dark eyes pinpoint the Maverick back in the bed with the empty bottle of wine. “Why does it matter, Dantalion?” The full term used not to shift the mood but to simply return to older ways, of barbs and frustration back. “You bargained a date for me, and are upset that I did not return on time? A date?” Pausing because his sharp teeth click with each word that passes by his lips, each T punctuated too sharp.
He steps in and drops the bag and closes the door behind him. “Knowing what you know about me and now you are more fucking upset I didn’t send a letter? Not that, oh I don’t know, I could have potentially killed her? I didn’t, by the way. If it fucking matters to you at all.” The words flood from him in that grittier, Ferox Whitebrim accent, and he tears his gaze away to stare at the ceiling, cheek blooming red from a handprint marked into olive skin.
It’s the one running thought through the butchers head as he steps away, halted by the way Danta’s words pierce and cut. Enough that his horned head and tousled hair hunches between his shoulders. Gnashing his teeth together, his grip tightens on the bag, white knuckled as Danta leaves his door open, as the words continue to barb and poke.
He finds his feet carrying him back before he has a moment to think about it. Lingering by the doorframe, dark eyes pinpoint the Maverick back in the bed with the empty bottle of wine. “Why does it matter, Dantalion?” The full term used not to shift the mood but to simply return to older ways, of barbs and frustration back. “You bargained a date for me, and are upset that I did not return on time? A date?” Pausing because his sharp teeth click with each word that passes by his lips, each T punctuated too sharp.
He steps in and drops the bag and closes the door behind him. “Knowing what you know about me and now you are more fucking upset I didn’t send a letter? Not that, oh I don’t know, I could have potentially killed her? I didn’t, by the way. If it fucking matters to you at all.” The words flood from him in that grittier, Ferox Whitebrim accent, and he tears his gaze away to stare at the ceiling, cheek blooming red from a handprint marked into olive skin.
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
