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
Her wink sparks a rumble of a laugh from him, a roll of his eyes. “Words are naught much more than hot air, and you know what hot air does? It rises.” It’s a very prolonged comeback, but the butcher seems satisfied with his answer as he steps away to peel the rest of the wet clothes from his scarred torso, giving her a precursory glance as he’s sure she does the same for him. Finding nothing amiss, no injuries or wounds, he wraps himself in the blanket easily drawing comfort from its soft fibers and the way it radiates heat to his cool and still slightly damp torso.
“Only just?! You wound me, darling.” Comes the dramatic whine, settling into the other chair and crossing a leg over the other, letting the fire warm and dry his pants first while his torso remains wrapped up comfortably, with only a hand available outside of it to snag the glass as Thalassa brings it toward them. Gladly accepting the new liquor in his glass, he sinks back into the chair and takes a long slow sip, relishing the sweet burn on his tongue.
He's quiet for a moment before he pipes up again, a soft chuckle the start of the next statement as he watches the fire dance in the fireplace. “I would hope that if I were to turn to stone in your presence that you would free me, even if I know I would make quite the handsome coat rack.” Sliding his honey dark gaze toward her, there’s amusement in the reflection of the flame that turns them a deep hue of ruddy clay. “Or at least have Danta be my savior once more.” His lips quirk into an amused grin, enough to show the sharper fang amongst the rest of the sharp points.
“Only just?! You wound me, darling.” Comes the dramatic whine, settling into the other chair and crossing a leg over the other, letting the fire warm and dry his pants first while his torso remains wrapped up comfortably, with only a hand available outside of it to snag the glass as Thalassa brings it toward them. Gladly accepting the new liquor in his glass, he sinks back into the chair and takes a long slow sip, relishing the sweet burn on his tongue.
He's quiet for a moment before he pipes up again, a soft chuckle the start of the next statement as he watches the fire dance in the fireplace. “I would hope that if I were to turn to stone in your presence that you would free me, even if I know I would make quite the handsome coat rack.” Sliding his honey dark gaze toward her, there’s amusement in the reflection of the flame that turns them a deep hue of ruddy clay. “Or at least have Danta be my savior once more.” His lips quirk into an amused grin, enough to show the sharper fang amongst the rest of the sharp points.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
