// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //
While some may have already succumbed to sleep, especially with the quiet lull the Dusklight has taken, the butcher is wide awake. Drifting from their room to the office space of the back rooms, settling in by the fire because he’s sure if Danta returned now as he said he likely would, that he’d be able to hear it when he trekked back in.
He’s not worried, outwardly at least. Internally, he’s a bit of a mess only because of the body dumped on the doorstep. A body he knew. A body taken out by the void and while he was sure Danta was capable of keeping himself safe, he wonders occasionally just whether it would be enough against the foe that is the Family. Especially when Flora and Jack had succumbed once before.
So when he hears the Maverick drift into his office and the wet splatters of water drip from his clothes, the butcher closes the book he’s been half reading, snagging his cup of tea he’d kept warm, and drifts into the Theocrat’s office. He drifts immediately toward the beacon that is Danta, his hand finding his shoulder with warmth before a lick of flame curls through his lovers hair to dry it, ignoring the letter for the moment. “Welcome home, darling. Is everything okay?” He might notice the dark gaze of the butcher scanning him calculating, seeking out any signs of pain or injury.
He’s not worried, outwardly at least. Internally, he’s a bit of a mess only because of the body dumped on the doorstep. A body he knew. A body taken out by the void and while he was sure Danta was capable of keeping himself safe, he wonders occasionally just whether it would be enough against the foe that is the Family. Especially when Flora and Jack had succumbed once before.
So when he hears the Maverick drift into his office and the wet splatters of water drip from his clothes, the butcher closes the book he’s been half reading, snagging his cup of tea he’d kept warm, and drifts into the Theocrat’s office. He drifts immediately toward the beacon that is Danta, his hand finding his shoulder with warmth before a lick of flame curls through his lovers hair to dry it, ignoring the letter for the moment. “Welcome home, darling. Is everything okay?” He might notice the dark gaze of the butcher scanning him calculating, seeking out any signs of pain or injury.
Astaroth
// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //
