run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
The butcher has at least schooled himself into a more approachable cannibal, no longer letting his tail give him away even if Danta would be able to see the blatant lie in the sharp smile aimed at the two of them as they enter. Sunjata’s grateful smile is granted an almost condescending inclination of his head — as if silently conveying the fact that they have provided it as good and gracious hosts and not because of any other reasoning.
“Thank you, darling.” He hums a touch softer to Danta as he watches the Flood pluck the Halovian whiskey, not allowing that to be a fact that impresses him. “Chosen in case our guest prefers something sweet rather than something sharp.” He announces blatantly to the whole room, even as he watches Sunjata already start to pour the whiskey in.
He did say he wasn’t going to be nice.
He leans toward Danta a touch for both the boon and heat he offers, and to say that he would like some of the whiskey, trying to school his tail into remaining still rather than the frustrated twitching it wants to do. Entirely due to the fact he can’t get a read on the Flood aside from trauma and a depressing amount of sadness.
How very dull.
“You will be leaving in the morning, yes?” He asks bluntly, reaching out to brush a piece of lint from the top of the table.
“Thank you, darling.” He hums a touch softer to Danta as he watches the Flood pluck the Halovian whiskey, not allowing that to be a fact that impresses him. “Chosen in case our guest prefers something sweet rather than something sharp.” He announces blatantly to the whole room, even as he watches Sunjata already start to pour the whiskey in.
He did say he wasn’t going to be nice.
He leans toward Danta a touch for both the boon and heat he offers, and to say that he would like some of the whiskey, trying to school his tail into remaining still rather than the frustrated twitching it wants to do. Entirely due to the fact he can’t get a read on the Flood aside from trauma and a depressing amount of sadness.
How very dull.
“You will be leaving in the morning, yes?” He asks bluntly, reaching out to brush a piece of lint from the top of the table.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
