now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence
won't accept your silence
A soft chuckle leaves the butcher as he glances over at her, jostled by her playful bump into his shoulder. “Perhaps.” He hums with a small smirk, knowing and secretive despite the fact he’ll give her the answer to her biting questions shortly. “I am intending on asking him to marry me. I am not sure how soon yet, but I am trying to be at the very least prepared.” His voice has dropped, the low thrum of his accent thicker here.
He draws silent for a few moments to listen to the rustle and changing of the environment around them – the humidity that blossoms in the shade of the trees that he doesn’t seem to care much for. “We can try our hand at both, perhaps?” Asta suggests, shooting her a shark toothed grin precisely as a speaking squirrel bolts away from them in the underbrush with a parting little chirp of “yes!”
He draws silent for a few moments to listen to the rustle and changing of the environment around them – the humidity that blossoms in the shade of the trees that he doesn’t seem to care much for. “We can try our hand at both, perhaps?” Asta suggests, shooting her a shark toothed grin precisely as a speaking squirrel bolts away from them in the underbrush with a parting little chirp of “yes!”
Astaroth
beg me for forgiveness
