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
Oh, and it is a long time. Long enough for his paperwork to consist of diagrams in excruciating detail of just how he might completely disfigure and aptly butcher said offender, even if they hadn’t talked about their proclivities elsewhere, only to burn the evidence with the snap of his fingers, leaving a pile of ash forming higher and higher on his desk.
That, and by the time the tapping at his door arrives, the butcher has gone through at least half of the bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t get up to answer the door, but Danta would find it unlocked regardless if he tries to open it. And in lieu of any pleasantries, he’s greeted with the roughly accented “I am quite busy, as it turns out.” Busy thinking of any multitude of ways to slip away and go on a rampage, but now too drunk to actually enact such dark thoughts.
“Perhaps someone else can distract you for the night.” It burns as it leaves his lips, dripping in a touch of sarcasm he can’t bite back, and should Danta open the door he’ll be greeted with Astaroth leaned back in his chair, the bottle at his desk, feet propped up on the edge as he watches the fire with the crystal glass of whiskey cradled in one hand, with his desk quite dusty with ash remnants.
That, and by the time the tapping at his door arrives, the butcher has gone through at least half of the bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t get up to answer the door, but Danta would find it unlocked regardless if he tries to open it. And in lieu of any pleasantries, he’s greeted with the roughly accented “I am quite busy, as it turns out.” Busy thinking of any multitude of ways to slip away and go on a rampage, but now too drunk to actually enact such dark thoughts.
“Perhaps someone else can distract you for the night.” It burns as it leaves his lips, dripping in a touch of sarcasm he can’t bite back, and should Danta open the door he’ll be greeted with Astaroth leaned back in his chair, the bottle at his desk, feet propped up on the edge as he watches the fire with the crystal glass of whiskey cradled in one hand, with his desk quite dusty with ash remnants.
Astaroth
say your prayers now
