i tried to start caring like you and like them
when you said that i was killing myself
when you said that i was killing myself
Snorting, because the butcher is in complete agreement, he grows a touch thoughtful as he thinks about it, before shaking his head. “Perhaps it is because these teeth are sharper than the average.” And, if he wanted to, he could put his glamour up so she could see the way his sharper fangs vanish, leaving equally still just as sharp teeth behind in lieu of it. Things he’d long had before becoming Ancient.
But instead, he smiles as she agrees with his boast of compliments, and as she offers her glass for him to fill, he does before the bottle sets down between them as the gift is revealed and he turns it over a few times to inspect it. His jest is met with her own, letting the low accented laugh rumble from his chest as his dark gaze flits up toward her. “It is difficult to manage it when I have one working arm.” He informs her as if she didn’t already know (which, somehow he thinks she did understand one way or another).
But he inspects it, cocking his head a little to peer back at the mirror, seeing the disarray in his appearance and the way the movement has his long hair falling across his face. “Shall we test it?” He asks, looking up at her. “Perhaps it reveals a race… If I put my glamour up perhaps it will signify in the reflection that I am still Ancient?” Curious, yet not realizing subconsciously he’s still putting up his glamour as he previously thought (blaming the alcohol, of course), the butcher slips up the glamour and allows himself to look particularly normal with the way his hair falls limply without the horns, lowering his height by a few inches even with the way he's sitting, and no tail and fangs in sight.
“Mm, no, that is not it.” He hums as he twists to hold the mirror up so that she can see his reflection in it to see him perfectly reflected.
But instead, he smiles as she agrees with his boast of compliments, and as she offers her glass for him to fill, he does before the bottle sets down between them as the gift is revealed and he turns it over a few times to inspect it. His jest is met with her own, letting the low accented laugh rumble from his chest as his dark gaze flits up toward her. “It is difficult to manage it when I have one working arm.” He informs her as if she didn’t already know (which, somehow he thinks she did understand one way or another).
But he inspects it, cocking his head a little to peer back at the mirror, seeing the disarray in his appearance and the way the movement has his long hair falling across his face. “Shall we test it?” He asks, looking up at her. “Perhaps it reveals a race… If I put my glamour up perhaps it will signify in the reflection that I am still Ancient?” Curious, yet not realizing subconsciously he’s still putting up his glamour as he previously thought (blaming the alcohol, of course), the butcher slips up the glamour and allows himself to look particularly normal with the way his hair falls limply without the horns, lowering his height by a few inches even with the way he's sitting, and no tail and fangs in sight.
“Mm, no, that is not it.” He hums as he twists to hold the mirror up so that she can see his reflection in it to see him perfectly reflected.
Astaroth
healed everything but my shame
