lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was
He does make the mistake of glancing over precisely at the worst time for him, as it turns out. Because then he’s seeing the trajectory of her hands on him and Danta’s own in turn, oblivious to the fact that he’s standing right there. Not that they had talked about it, of course. He’d thought he’d be fine with it.
He’d thought wrong, evidently.
The reasonable part of the butcher’s mind says to do nothing, to let him have his fun and it’ll be fine in the end. The other part of his mind sees red, and he wonders precisely what her hands might look like should they be missing from her body. And it’s a thought that vibrates louder and louder as the moments pass, as Danta rises with her with the clear intentions of doing something else.
He starts to move, then, still warring with himself whether to get involved. His feet seem to be following his rational part of his mind, though, even if his height certainly cuts a shadow dark enough to maybe catch the Maverick’s eye. He doesn’t look to see if he notices, though, because with the cane clicking against the floor, the butcher marches toward the bar, announcing that he’ll be doing paperwork to the bar staff in case they need him (paperwork is suggestive, seeing as it might be diagrams of the best and worst ways to tear her apart), and if a bottle of whiskey is slipped from the bar, well, he won’t admit it.
He just knows he doesn’t want to stick around to be able to see whatever shadowy alcove the Maverick has found. Doesn’t want to try and pick out the sounds he’ll make in between the ones the rest of the Dusklight provides. And so he vanishes, tail lashing behind him as he departs to his office.
He’d thought wrong, evidently.
The reasonable part of the butcher’s mind says to do nothing, to let him have his fun and it’ll be fine in the end. The other part of his mind sees red, and he wonders precisely what her hands might look like should they be missing from her body. And it’s a thought that vibrates louder and louder as the moments pass, as Danta rises with her with the clear intentions of doing something else.
He starts to move, then, still warring with himself whether to get involved. His feet seem to be following his rational part of his mind, though, even if his height certainly cuts a shadow dark enough to maybe catch the Maverick’s eye. He doesn’t look to see if he notices, though, because with the cane clicking against the floor, the butcher marches toward the bar, announcing that he’ll be doing paperwork to the bar staff in case they need him (paperwork is suggestive, seeing as it might be diagrams of the best and worst ways to tear her apart), and if a bottle of whiskey is slipped from the bar, well, he won’t admit it.
He just knows he doesn’t want to stick around to be able to see whatever shadowy alcove the Maverick has found. Doesn’t want to try and pick out the sounds he’ll make in between the ones the rest of the Dusklight provides. And so he vanishes, tail lashing behind him as he departs to his office.
Astaroth
say your prayers now
