the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
To the butcher, Ludo was very much alive and well — and the spirits from the deity were more tangible than the idea of ghosts of those long since passed. The Festival of Lights was for revisiting ghosts and friends who have gone. And given that he’s wholly devoted to Dygra, the raggedy god never seemed to cross his mind.
So, highly doubting that crystals and sage and salt would keep Ludo and its tricks away, if it even deigned to stoop so low as to play tricks on the populace at large, the butcher definitely enjoys the idea of the aesthetic as much as Danta does.
Ogling as he is, he isn’t trying to be sly about it, but he does notice the rest of the Dusklight ogling the both of them in return. And it’s luck, as it so happens, because each one he looked at was focused wholly on the blonde (riling him up) only to let it deflate with the distinct sensation of eyes on himself in turn when he’s shown the bottle the Theocrat has found for them. “It will more than suffice.” He purrs in return, sweeping over to collect the bottle and two fresh and clean glasses for the trouble of it, posture stick straight yet elegant (playing it up because he knows the Maverick would ogle him in return).
With the bottle in hand, the butcher steps further in, snagging a plate already made up of snacks just to have, before he’s turning toward Danta again, close enough that his arm brushes against his bare torso. “Would you like to keep an eye out down here a little longer or are you ready to go up?” He asks, his grin just as sharp and as wide as his usual status quo, even if mischief sparks in his kohl lined eyes as his spaded tail brushes against the Maverick’s calf in a sly and subtle motion, shared only between the two of them. He’s content with either option.
So, highly doubting that crystals and sage and salt would keep Ludo and its tricks away, if it even deigned to stoop so low as to play tricks on the populace at large, the butcher definitely enjoys the idea of the aesthetic as much as Danta does.
Ogling as he is, he isn’t trying to be sly about it, but he does notice the rest of the Dusklight ogling the both of them in return. And it’s luck, as it so happens, because each one he looked at was focused wholly on the blonde (riling him up) only to let it deflate with the distinct sensation of eyes on himself in turn when he’s shown the bottle the Theocrat has found for them. “It will more than suffice.” He purrs in return, sweeping over to collect the bottle and two fresh and clean glasses for the trouble of it, posture stick straight yet elegant (playing it up because he knows the Maverick would ogle him in return).
With the bottle in hand, the butcher steps further in, snagging a plate already made up of snacks just to have, before he’s turning toward Danta again, close enough that his arm brushes against his bare torso. “Would you like to keep an eye out down here a little longer or are you ready to go up?” He asks, his grin just as sharp and as wide as his usual status quo, even if mischief sparks in his kohl lined eyes as his spaded tail brushes against the Maverick’s calf in a sly and subtle motion, shared only between the two of them. He’s content with either option.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
