you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath
if you take the time to scratch the surface,
if you take the time to scratch the surface,
It has been terrible. And the only saving grace for the butcher is his tour of getting gifts, visiting Stormbreak and the Greatwood in the attempts that he might be able to be away from home long enough for Danta to get some semblance of rest in his own bed, rather than having to stay on the couch. All that to say that he knows it’s been hard, and he hates that it is, and so he’s trying to make it go by as quickly as possible. Ripping the bandaid off so that he might be able to face his fears and swallow them down and grow.
He's dressed in all black, gaunt and pale from lack of sleep and the inability to stay asleep consistently, and at least with Danta he doesn’t have to pretend to warm up or not be as fucked up as he feels. He wears an overcoat, just in case it does rain, though he feels as if it were fitting to look as much like a drowned rat as he feels inside.
Nodding numbly, the butcher tries for a smile that’s equally as exhausted as it is a touch worried. He hasn’t seen a gore crow (or a crow of any kind) since staying the night in the Climb. His palm has healed, but the scar remains pale against his skin. “I do.” He murmurs, trailing after Danta toward the bench for the look out. “It’ll work well, darling.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hands from the pockets they’d been in as he nudges Danta lightly with his shoulder, trying to bring some warmth into the moment even if he feels already clammy and cold. Flashing him a bright smile, he steps up to the bench and waits for Danta to hop up onto it and shift or shift before he gets up there. “I will just need a few, I believe.”
He's dressed in all black, gaunt and pale from lack of sleep and the inability to stay asleep consistently, and at least with Danta he doesn’t have to pretend to warm up or not be as fucked up as he feels. He wears an overcoat, just in case it does rain, though he feels as if it were fitting to look as much like a drowned rat as he feels inside.
Nodding numbly, the butcher tries for a smile that’s equally as exhausted as it is a touch worried. He hasn’t seen a gore crow (or a crow of any kind) since staying the night in the Climb. His palm has healed, but the scar remains pale against his skin. “I do.” He murmurs, trailing after Danta toward the bench for the look out. “It’ll work well, darling.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hands from the pockets they’d been in as he nudges Danta lightly with his shoulder, trying to bring some warmth into the moment even if he feels already clammy and cold. Flashing him a bright smile, he steps up to the bench and waits for Danta to hop up onto it and shift or shift before he gets up there. “I will just need a few, I believe.”
Astaroth
i'll show you where the hurt is
