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
He scans her face as it grows softer in the firelight, though he knows better. Beneath the occasional soft exterior is sharp teeth and blades, ready to strike and slay — not unlike himself, beneath the confines of beautifully tailored outfits. The flame licks up stronger against the rain, offering more warmth to her as the hum of his accented voice leaves him. “Mm, that would be hard, yes.” He agrees, distracted as he tries to imagine it.
But she continues, and fuck if he doesn’t relate, like she’s painting a picture of the younger version of himself. It’s that warring between one another that the butcher still struggles with, so much so that he can’t help but to relate. And since he’s already revealed one of his largest secrets and found Thal to be flippant over the issue.. where’s the harm?
He shifts as she speaks again, well aware of his tendency to not prefer to be touched, but he initiates it in the act of sitting closer to her so his shoulder presses against hers while he straightens up and stares at the ball of flame that dances and hisses. “You do not scream Lassie to me.” He murmurs with a soft laugh, shaking his head as droplets drip down his neck. “But I do relate, somewhat..” He pauses, inclining his head back toward her with a soft smile.
“Astaroth is not the name I was born with. And the man I grew up as died the day I became Ancient. I do recall the memories of it, yet…” The shoulder that doesn’t touch Thal’s shrugs a little. “I was an accepted who did not speak the common tongue, who lived in a home built of snow, whale bones, and human bones. I did not know how to read books or letters, but I could read the stars. I did not know how to speak easily. It worked for when I was scouting, but not when I fled my crumbling village.” Hence the whole not knowing the societal norms, of not being able to accurately explain himself, of being dragged to the Climb to suffer for his crime.
Glancing at her curiously, he pauses as the firelight flickers across their faces, painting them in a light that makes them seem a lot younger than they are.
But she continues, and fuck if he doesn’t relate, like she’s painting a picture of the younger version of himself. It’s that warring between one another that the butcher still struggles with, so much so that he can’t help but to relate. And since he’s already revealed one of his largest secrets and found Thal to be flippant over the issue.. where’s the harm?
He shifts as she speaks again, well aware of his tendency to not prefer to be touched, but he initiates it in the act of sitting closer to her so his shoulder presses against hers while he straightens up and stares at the ball of flame that dances and hisses. “You do not scream Lassie to me.” He murmurs with a soft laugh, shaking his head as droplets drip down his neck. “But I do relate, somewhat..” He pauses, inclining his head back toward her with a soft smile.
“Astaroth is not the name I was born with. And the man I grew up as died the day I became Ancient. I do recall the memories of it, yet…” The shoulder that doesn’t touch Thal’s shrugs a little. “I was an accepted who did not speak the common tongue, who lived in a home built of snow, whale bones, and human bones. I did not know how to read books or letters, but I could read the stars. I did not know how to speak easily. It worked for when I was scouting, but not when I fled my crumbling village.” Hence the whole not knowing the societal norms, of not being able to accurately explain himself, of being dragged to the Climb to suffer for his crime.
Glancing at her curiously, he pauses as the firelight flickers across their faces, painting them in a light that makes them seem a lot younger than they are.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
