// tell me i'm forgiven, say you'll always be mine //
The Dusklight thrums with a certain air of tension — held taught like a bowstring on the edge of snapping either forward or breaking entirely. Why, you might ask? Well, you see, there’s one particular trouble maker that keeps trying to harass the staff. And the butcher, having decided to try a new type of attendance (hiding in the shadows mostly to ensure that people weren’t on their best behavior because they saw him wandering around) seems to have quite the bit of excitement in seeing how brazen some people could be.
The butcher blends into the shadows as he watches the pest, a brawny attuned by the look of it. And when he finally reaches out for his first official step over the line, shadows thread out to reveal the security in question in a straight line toward the attuned who clams up the second they spy his too sharp smile.
It’s an easy and quick exchange (with the butcher hauling the man out of the Dusklight, wrapped in shadows and darkness), when the butcher returns with his threaded cane glinting a touch red on the silver and bronze streaked blade. It clicks against the floor as he returns and heads straight for the bar, his smiling shadows of ghouls following him to spread across the floor as he takes up a space at the end of the bar, snagging a shot of whiskey to down and a large glass of water to follow it.
He wears the usual body guard outfit Danta had picked for him forever ago, only forgoing the muzzle for the time being. The shirt is black, cut and molded to his body aside from the window cut out of the back. It leaves all the rootlike scar tissue on display, raised and angry and so similar to that of tree roots growing under concrete. The butcher doesn’t seem to care though, smoothing out the uniform as he hangs his cane on the end of the bar to take the shot and the sip of water. Then, the next step is getting his hair back behind the long dark fire obsidian horns that extend from his skull, working on returning him to being perfectly presentable.
His cover is blown now, though, which makes it nearly impossible to return to hiding in the shadows, so the butcher certainly takes his time.
The butcher blends into the shadows as he watches the pest, a brawny attuned by the look of it. And when he finally reaches out for his first official step over the line, shadows thread out to reveal the security in question in a straight line toward the attuned who clams up the second they spy his too sharp smile.
It’s an easy and quick exchange (with the butcher hauling the man out of the Dusklight, wrapped in shadows and darkness), when the butcher returns with his threaded cane glinting a touch red on the silver and bronze streaked blade. It clicks against the floor as he returns and heads straight for the bar, his smiling shadows of ghouls following him to spread across the floor as he takes up a space at the end of the bar, snagging a shot of whiskey to down and a large glass of water to follow it.
He wears the usual body guard outfit Danta had picked for him forever ago, only forgoing the muzzle for the time being. The shirt is black, cut and molded to his body aside from the window cut out of the back. It leaves all the rootlike scar tissue on display, raised and angry and so similar to that of tree roots growing under concrete. The butcher doesn’t seem to care though, smoothing out the uniform as he hangs his cane on the end of the bar to take the shot and the sip of water. Then, the next step is getting his hair back behind the long dark fire obsidian horns that extend from his skull, working on returning him to being perfectly presentable.
His cover is blown now, though, which makes it nearly impossible to return to hiding in the shadows, so the butcher certainly takes his time.
Astaroth
// say that everything is over, tell me i'm fine //
