// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
“Yeah.” The butcher confirms, shrugging a shoulder beneath the heavy blanket as if it wasn’t even a thought that crossed his mind. “The… Jack, guy, he took all the damage, pretty much.” He shakes his head, another lock of dark hair falling forward into his face as he watches the firelight flicker against the glass of the Halovian whiskey bottle, the cork that still sits within the entrance after being replaced from the sip he’d taken.
As he hears Danta’s reasoning, his nose wrinkles and he’s half tempted to snap at Danta’s hands for daring to take it away from him. But he doesn’t, because he knows that he’s right deep down and it’s just another little failure to add to the list of horrors. The bottle is given up, the butcher’s hands lay limp in his lap aside from the tremors and twitching, until Danta’s soft voice breaks him out of the rabbit hole of his thoughts and he watches the blonde’s hands clasp his own – almost so warm that for a second he thinks he’s still human. Still Accepted. Like Danta’s warmth might burn him.
It's a hitch of his breath that has him suddenly squeezing the other man’s hands, turning as requested while the muscles feather in his bearded jaw, until those warm hands and arms are suddenly enveloping him beneath the heavy blanket. He tries to not cave in immediately, but it’s a failing attempt not more than two seconds later before his head presses in hard against the Maverick’s shoulder and he exhales a shaky sound, his arms slowly winding around his middle. “I hate this, Danta.” He whispers back, knowing he’d agreed to get that crow charm eventually. But in the meantime? This sucked. This hurt. Each time the gore crow’s caw pops back into his mind, it feels like another lancing stripe of pain down the scar tissue on his body.
As he hears Danta’s reasoning, his nose wrinkles and he’s half tempted to snap at Danta’s hands for daring to take it away from him. But he doesn’t, because he knows that he’s right deep down and it’s just another little failure to add to the list of horrors. The bottle is given up, the butcher’s hands lay limp in his lap aside from the tremors and twitching, until Danta’s soft voice breaks him out of the rabbit hole of his thoughts and he watches the blonde’s hands clasp his own – almost so warm that for a second he thinks he’s still human. Still Accepted. Like Danta’s warmth might burn him.
It's a hitch of his breath that has him suddenly squeezing the other man’s hands, turning as requested while the muscles feather in his bearded jaw, until those warm hands and arms are suddenly enveloping him beneath the heavy blanket. He tries to not cave in immediately, but it’s a failing attempt not more than two seconds later before his head presses in hard against the Maverick’s shoulder and he exhales a shaky sound, his arms slowly winding around his middle. “I hate this, Danta.” He whispers back, knowing he’d agreed to get that crow charm eventually. But in the meantime? This sucked. This hurt. Each time the gore crow’s caw pops back into his mind, it feels like another lancing stripe of pain down the scar tissue on his body.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
