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,
Perhaps he might have been more worried about it in the past. But for now? So far those she has told that have talked to him have been less than caring about the information. So the butcher has no reason to believe it’ll change in the near to immediate future. So as she lets her anger bloom, he can hear the tendrils of it in her voice when she tells him he’s a good person, snorting softly at it because he could be good, to those who have earned it. “I do not think she will ever consider me a good person.” Regardless of what he did or didn’t do. The fact was that he did do unsavory things on occasion and that was enough to wipe any good deeds away from memory. “I do not mind.”
And he doesn’t.
But as he speaks next over those around her that do care about her, that do care to be her friend, the butcher finds that the sorrow she’d wrapped herself in slowly shifts toward the familiarity of mischief. Of playfulness. “You? Never, darling.” He teases her, meeting her halfway in the playful mischief.
His embrace loosens so that he can stretch a long leg out, keeping one arm around her shoulders while the other plucks the muzzle back into his hand away from her as she takes him in, the glimmer of fiery hues within the obsidian of his horns, adorned with shiny trinkets of jewels. “I was not doing anything so important that I could not ensure my friend was alright.” He informs her simply, glancing over at her with that sharp smile, an angle of his head that makes the chains clink. “There is a big party at the Dusklight to ring in Longheat. I was working, hence the outfit.” Gesturing with the hand clutching the muzzle to his torso and pants, it rises shortly after in a mock attempt at putting it on. “Quite dashingly terrifying, no? It is one of Danta’s favorites.”
And he doesn’t.
But as he speaks next over those around her that do care about her, that do care to be her friend, the butcher finds that the sorrow she’d wrapped herself in slowly shifts toward the familiarity of mischief. Of playfulness. “You? Never, darling.” He teases her, meeting her halfway in the playful mischief.
His embrace loosens so that he can stretch a long leg out, keeping one arm around her shoulders while the other plucks the muzzle back into his hand away from her as she takes him in, the glimmer of fiery hues within the obsidian of his horns, adorned with shiny trinkets of jewels. “I was not doing anything so important that I could not ensure my friend was alright.” He informs her simply, glancing over at her with that sharp smile, an angle of his head that makes the chains clink. “There is a big party at the Dusklight to ring in Longheat. I was working, hence the outfit.” Gesturing with the hand clutching the muzzle to his torso and pants, it rises shortly after in a mock attempt at putting it on. “Quite dashingly terrifying, no? It is one of Danta’s favorites.”
Astaroth
i'll show you where the hurt is
