you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
Too quick to anger wasn’t really a problem the butcher sees. He, too, has his moments, and with them comes the imminent need for violence just as she does. They are one in the same, two sides of a coin that Asta shouldn’t find as relieving as he does, but he does. And so when she makes her suggestion, the butchers low chuckle is as dark as it is amused, because he’s certainly thought of the same thing too. “That is another reason. Perhaps it is better to let her stew over it.” All of this after her actions at the leadership event where she’d put so many in danger. He still remembers the way his teeth got set on edge when Danta had told him, to think that the Maverick had been placed in such a position.
“She has been barred from the Inner Quarter, if I recall correctly. For that, amongst other reasons.” He adds, in case she wasn’t aware, but at least Asta had the comfort of knowing if he wandered around the most inner portion of the Grounds he wouldn’t be forced to be confronted with her. Not as he once had.
He reaches out for her, then, his hand warm and his smile promising violence mirroring her own when she looks up at him. Releasing her so that she might prepare, he’s already ready. The cane by his side and the hidden dagger on his person. That, and his teeth. But he does take a moment to shed out of the overcoat, leaving himself in the waistcoat and other finery that he assumes would be easier to clean or get new ones of if worse came to worse.
Stepping up beside her with the threaded cane in hand, they drift out toward the woods, water dripping onto him and through his hair, soaking through his shirt though he doesn’t mind, not with the promise of satisfying the bloodlust on his mind. She is a wraith of shadows and fire, and the butcher joins her. Melting into the dark hues of shadows, lit up only occasionally by the occasional but frequent strike of lightning. Thunder cracks overhead, and while some of the creatures have hunkered down for the night, something catches his attention. Movement on the edge of an outcrop, a log that has moved slightly until it spots their approach.
“There.” Comes the whisper, dark eyes glancing over toward Thalassa before he starts the show. It’s an allogator and what he knows of them is that they typically lie in wait until one is close enough. Gesturing for her to remain hidden, but close enough on his heels, he approaches it — cane outstretched as if he were no more than a drunken wanderer, searching for a quiet place of respite.
And at the last second, the cane bumps the side of the ‘log’, only to have it whip around with its jaws parting, aiming to snag and crush his bones. He evades it easily with a loud bark of a laugh, but as it spins it opens up its side for Thalassa’s own assault while the butcher essentially does nothing more but play with their food.
“She has been barred from the Inner Quarter, if I recall correctly. For that, amongst other reasons.” He adds, in case she wasn’t aware, but at least Asta had the comfort of knowing if he wandered around the most inner portion of the Grounds he wouldn’t be forced to be confronted with her. Not as he once had.
He reaches out for her, then, his hand warm and his smile promising violence mirroring her own when she looks up at him. Releasing her so that she might prepare, he’s already ready. The cane by his side and the hidden dagger on his person. That, and his teeth. But he does take a moment to shed out of the overcoat, leaving himself in the waistcoat and other finery that he assumes would be easier to clean or get new ones of if worse came to worse.
Stepping up beside her with the threaded cane in hand, they drift out toward the woods, water dripping onto him and through his hair, soaking through his shirt though he doesn’t mind, not with the promise of satisfying the bloodlust on his mind. She is a wraith of shadows and fire, and the butcher joins her. Melting into the dark hues of shadows, lit up only occasionally by the occasional but frequent strike of lightning. Thunder cracks overhead, and while some of the creatures have hunkered down for the night, something catches his attention. Movement on the edge of an outcrop, a log that has moved slightly until it spots their approach.
“There.” Comes the whisper, dark eyes glancing over toward Thalassa before he starts the show. It’s an allogator and what he knows of them is that they typically lie in wait until one is close enough. Gesturing for her to remain hidden, but close enough on his heels, he approaches it — cane outstretched as if he were no more than a drunken wanderer, searching for a quiet place of respite.
And at the last second, the cane bumps the side of the ‘log’, only to have it whip around with its jaws parting, aiming to snag and crush his bones. He evades it easily with a loud bark of a laugh, but as it spins it opens up its side for Thalassa’s own assault while the butcher essentially does nothing more but play with their food.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
