go home, lie down, decompose

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

As per usual, the butcher enjoys being eyed — especially by the Maverick. And if he’s a touch more showy during it, it is what it is. He notices, though, that Danta hasn’t made too many of those origami rOUS’. And his gaze drifts toward those very chonky rats, lips quirking in amusement. Drifting his gaze toward the blonde’s hands to see the cinderscourge, he nods and hums a soft laugh. “I have never seen one.” He has seen the silhouettes just as Danta has, but up close in person? Never once.

Hoisting the pickaxe back up to continue breaking off more of the iron, he barks a laugh and stutters in his movements to cast a glance toward him to spot the bouncing eyebrows. “I am afraid I am not made for true manual labor, but for you I may make an exception.” Labor in terms of moving and chopping up bodies? Absolutely. Fixing a windowsill or putting in a door frame? Far less fun.

Either way, he has another good sized pile that he tucks away into the bag before he hoists it up, scouring the sides for a hue of copper. “Ready to keep looking? I believe we need copper, now.” He asks, drifting over toward Danta with hands dusted in ashy grey, plucking a rOUS origami to inspect while Danta collects his things.

Astaroth

beg me for forgiveness