run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
“Understandable.” The butcher agrees with a low chuckle of his own – mirroring her ocean wave amusement, pretty to hear, deadly if you aren’t paying attention. As for Maea’s cycle of injuries, the butcher inclines his head to that, glancing up to the darkening sky as they walk as if he might be able to track the stars again. “Mm it will, until she manages to figure out a way to make it everyone else’s fault.” It’s an idle thought – brought on by the fact she had sent the letter seasons ago to him asking to apologize and he’d never once reached out.
But he’d heard how badly she wanted to apologize and the butcher didn’t care to hear it.
Not that it seemed to matter. His tail flicks with the same frustration as Thalassa’s own, he inclines his head down toward her with a dramatic groan in the face of her teasing-yet-serious grin. “As a matter of fact, I have.” He says flatly, his accent thicker as he drawls. “She forced her apology on me in the midst of Flora’s party.”
But he’d heard how badly she wanted to apologize and the butcher didn’t care to hear it.
Not that it seemed to matter. His tail flicks with the same frustration as Thalassa’s own, he inclines his head down toward her with a dramatic groan in the face of her teasing-yet-serious grin. “As a matter of fact, I have.” He says flatly, his accent thicker as he drawls. “She forced her apology on me in the midst of Flora’s party.”
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
