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
It would be that easy if they didn’t talk about it, if he could reverse the conversation and just smile and nod drunkenly and pretend like everything was fine. That would be easy. In the short term, at least. So he says nothing in response because there’s nothing to say that wouldn’t just prolong this discomfort, as heavy and nauseating as it feels in his gut.
I don’t really believe that, is the thing that lingers in his mind because Danta’s certainly read between the lines, rather than try to prove the point that he’s feeling quite unreasonable with everything, his jaw feathers around another pull from the pipe before it exhales out slowly in a sigh when he speaks. “I won’t go anywhere.” He confirms from the question slated — in case Danta was worried about whether he’d vanish in the interim.
He stares at the fire rather than the blonde when he vanishes, and in the time he’s gone the butcher had returned to his position of before, leaned back in the dark leather chair, boots propped back up, the glass on the desk and the pipe sat beside it with the cherry glowing so dull that it’s going out. His tail continues to flick back and forth like an annoyed cat, fingertips twitching as he manipulates the fire in the fireplace. It’s precisely where Danta finds him when he returns, though the tension in the butcher’s shoulders remain, shrugging a shoulder to Danta’s apology. “It’s fine.” He tries to reiterate, clearing his throat. “Do you… remember what it felt like at the Hanged Man, when you weren’t interested in enjoying the party because of Flora and I?” He asks, jaw working as he keeps his gaze away. “It feels like that. And I understand that it is unreasonable, given everything. I am just… worried.”
I don’t really believe that, is the thing that lingers in his mind because Danta’s certainly read between the lines, rather than try to prove the point that he’s feeling quite unreasonable with everything, his jaw feathers around another pull from the pipe before it exhales out slowly in a sigh when he speaks. “I won’t go anywhere.” He confirms from the question slated — in case Danta was worried about whether he’d vanish in the interim.
He stares at the fire rather than the blonde when he vanishes, and in the time he’s gone the butcher had returned to his position of before, leaned back in the dark leather chair, boots propped back up, the glass on the desk and the pipe sat beside it with the cherry glowing so dull that it’s going out. His tail continues to flick back and forth like an annoyed cat, fingertips twitching as he manipulates the fire in the fireplace. It’s precisely where Danta finds him when he returns, though the tension in the butcher’s shoulders remain, shrugging a shoulder to Danta’s apology. “It’s fine.” He tries to reiterate, clearing his throat. “Do you… remember what it felt like at the Hanged Man, when you weren’t interested in enjoying the party because of Flora and I?” He asks, jaw working as he keeps his gaze away. “It feels like that. And I understand that it is unreasonable, given everything. I am just… worried.”
Astaroth
say your prayers now
