go home, lie down, decompose

now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence

He doesn’t concede to the way Danta chases after the kiss — because there’s plenty more where the first had come from. And so he departs from the Maverick’s side in order to approach the wall, running his fingertips across the vein before he prepares himself. Hoisting up the pickaxe and getting started, the butcher starts to chip away the blackened volcanic rock away from the vein before he starts diving in.

“We shall see, won’t we?” He drawls, casting a glance over toward the blonde with a crooked smirk. His attention lingers enough to spot the origami he makes, wondering what he’s chosen to make today, before he’s slamming the pickaxe down again to break off the ore. Muscles ripple through his arms (not bulky or strongly built, but willowy enough to see the ripple of muscle through his skin). It’s repetitive motions that break off a good amount of ore that he pauses with the metal head of the pickaxe on the ground to pluck the bits of ore to tuck away into the bag.

“What are you making, darling?” He asks belatedly, taking a quick break to smile over at Danta and ask his question before he continues (and if it gives him a better view to ogle, so be it).

Astaroth

beg me for forgiveness