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,
His image is far from something he’s imagining could be his reality. It’s an intimidation factor, like he would be able to shred through whatever came his way were the muzzle not in place with its intricate metal details. But it hangs limply from his hand as he watches her, the smile that graces her face seems strained at best, and for her apology, the butcher simply shakes his head lightly. “It is alright.” He murmurs softly. He couldn’t and wouldn’t blame her for bringing it up, not when it seemed to be such a deriving factor for them at the present moment. He wouldn’t begrudge her for wanting to ask the questions she sought.
But she shrugs, and the butcher’s dark gaze flits from her to the rivers of lava in the distance, the flock of gore crows that no longer harbor any detrimental reactions from him, before he nods and finds his attention swinging back to her when his name falls from her lips. “I know, darling.” His accented voice rumbles, softer, selfishly pleased that others have seen the error and it wasn’t just him parroting it back and forth. It’s partially the reason he hasn’t gone to see her, because he knows it would be pointless. Futile. Exhausting. Having his words warped around and manipulated in such a way to make the pale ancient feel better, regardless of what he felt.
He lets her continue without interjecting, imagining if the weight on her shoulders was as heavy as it seemed to be weighing her down, that letting it out would at least offer some respite for the time being. So he nods, the thin chains glinting the reflection of the lava and the sun emerging from the clouds along each tine, weaving in the motion that his head has taken. Yet when she announces that she was part of the compromise, well, the butcher’s frown tugs at odds with the typical smile lines etched into his face, watching the way she flicks her horns as the butcher recalls Maea had done in the past.
“I’m sorry, Thal.” Comes the genuine and soft rumble, while he draws up a leg toward his chest as well, exhaling a soft sigh. Shifting slightly, he lifts his arm and after a moment of hesitating (a moment of is this okay), he winds it around her shoulders for some semblance of companionship. “As far as I understood it, even if no one else partook in my preferences, she would still consider it condoning if they were… mm, at the very least, friends of mine. While you clearly do not, she will pit you the same as me.” A small scoff of a laugh leaves him, the frown replaced with a tired smile. “It must be exhausting. I do not envy her.” The butcher murmurs, letting the laughter die down for a slow exhale through his nose. “I am truly sorry, though. I did not wish to become a wedge in your friendship.” Even if it was one sided. He'd only wanted what was best for Thalassa, even if it meant questioning an already rocky relationship.
But she shrugs, and the butcher’s dark gaze flits from her to the rivers of lava in the distance, the flock of gore crows that no longer harbor any detrimental reactions from him, before he nods and finds his attention swinging back to her when his name falls from her lips. “I know, darling.” His accented voice rumbles, softer, selfishly pleased that others have seen the error and it wasn’t just him parroting it back and forth. It’s partially the reason he hasn’t gone to see her, because he knows it would be pointless. Futile. Exhausting. Having his words warped around and manipulated in such a way to make the pale ancient feel better, regardless of what he felt.
He lets her continue without interjecting, imagining if the weight on her shoulders was as heavy as it seemed to be weighing her down, that letting it out would at least offer some respite for the time being. So he nods, the thin chains glinting the reflection of the lava and the sun emerging from the clouds along each tine, weaving in the motion that his head has taken. Yet when she announces that she was part of the compromise, well, the butcher’s frown tugs at odds with the typical smile lines etched into his face, watching the way she flicks her horns as the butcher recalls Maea had done in the past.
“I’m sorry, Thal.” Comes the genuine and soft rumble, while he draws up a leg toward his chest as well, exhaling a soft sigh. Shifting slightly, he lifts his arm and after a moment of hesitating (a moment of is this okay), he winds it around her shoulders for some semblance of companionship. “As far as I understood it, even if no one else partook in my preferences, she would still consider it condoning if they were… mm, at the very least, friends of mine. While you clearly do not, she will pit you the same as me.” A small scoff of a laugh leaves him, the frown replaced with a tired smile. “It must be exhausting. I do not envy her.” The butcher murmurs, letting the laughter die down for a slow exhale through his nose. “I am truly sorry, though. I did not wish to become a wedge in your friendship.” Even if it was one sided. He'd only wanted what was best for Thalassa, even if it meant questioning an already rocky relationship.
Astaroth
i'll show you where the hurt is
