[SE] to be in between death and life

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

“Thank you, darling.” He hums softly, contently, watching her step away toward the fitting rooms before he’s looking through the racks again. He spots the blood red one immediately, drawn to it as he plucks it from the rack. The cut out in the chest is like a starburst, sharp edges embroidered to keep from fraying but with little amounts of structure to where it doesn’t seem stiff. Still a turtleneck and still sleeveless, though, the butcher’s tail flits with delight at the result.

So much so, that he scans for anything else of note – snagging a dark grey one with rectangles cut out at random intervals as well, draping it over his arm before he turns and spots Thalassa leaning against the wall beside him. His dark gaze takes her in and how it hugs her curves and accentuates her body but in a way that screams femme fatale. “Ah! It’s beautiful, Thal.” Comes the immediately syrupy praise, his grin brighter than it had been all day so far.

“What do you think? You cut quite a vicious and stunning figure.” Ignoring the picks he’d snagged in favor for grinning at her, his dark gaze flits back up to her face with a surprising amount of excitement. It’s quite clear that retail therapy does wonders for the butcher.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go