white roses in the red dirt

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

It’s somewhat quick work, and while the butcher wouldn’t be opposed to having jagged edges and sharp pieces from precise broken points, to simply drop it and ruin the idea in his mind would definitely shatter his heart. And make his muscles even more sore with the trip back to the Climb to snag another one. As it stands, it doesn’t break, and between the two of them they manage to get it precisely where the shrine should go – settled in the center of the chaos of the torn up floorboards.

“More than happy, darling.” Astaroth purrs through a softer tone as he tries to catch his breath, reaching for Charlie’s hand to squeeze it lightly, before he’s departing to collect the bag he’d brought. Within, he produces a piece of chalk and a multitude of chisels and hammers, returning to set the tools on the ground before he takes the chalk into his hand, squinting at the obsidian.

Humming a soft note through his nose, the butcher steps toward the piece, drawing out a little flattened pedestal type of shape, where much like the floorboards in the Temple, one half of it is pristine and square and beautiful like a column, the other side similar to it but broken up like pieces were somewhat shattered. Stepping back, he flashes a grin toward Charlie. “What do you think?”

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine