// allow me to introduce myself //
“You trust me, yes?” The butcher says, shooting a tired but sharp smile over his shoulder toward the Maverick. Most of the trek out this far had been informing him of the varieties of how they would collect firewood back in Whitebrim, much of it boring and probably common knowledge at this point, but with the sled they’re using for hauling the firewood back once they get it, he’s had to explain.
You see, he modified it before they departed out toward the trees this morning and for all the perfectionalist the butcher was, it was a relatively shitty looking sled, like it had been cobbled together with spare parts. What the butcher knows, though, is that the sled will work better than the manufactured ones you could get from the merchants within the Inner Quarter, and he’s felt a little self conscious about the look of it which lead to this entire explanation.
He's bundled in sweater upon sweater with an outer layer of a thick wool trench coat to keep the heat in, gloves to keep his fingers from turning grey, and a beautiful emerald dyed scarf wrapped around his neck – the only splotch of color seen aside from the olive of his skin and the onyx of his horns. Pausing by the trees that would be their victims, he snags one of the axes and hands it to his lover with that same sharp smile. “It will be the quickest way to carry all of this back and we will not have to worry about it the entirety of LongNight.” He promises, voice dripping with the vow.
You see, he modified it before they departed out toward the trees this morning and for all the perfectionalist the butcher was, it was a relatively shitty looking sled, like it had been cobbled together with spare parts. What the butcher knows, though, is that the sled will work better than the manufactured ones you could get from the merchants within the Inner Quarter, and he’s felt a little self conscious about the look of it which lead to this entire explanation.
He's bundled in sweater upon sweater with an outer layer of a thick wool trench coat to keep the heat in, gloves to keep his fingers from turning grey, and a beautiful emerald dyed scarf wrapped around his neck – the only splotch of color seen aside from the olive of his skin and the onyx of his horns. Pausing by the trees that would be their victims, he snags one of the axes and hands it to his lover with that same sharp smile. “It will be the quickest way to carry all of this back and we will not have to worry about it the entirety of LongNight.” He promises, voice dripping with the vow.
Astaroth
// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //
