now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence
won't accept your silence
“Perfect.” The butcher hums with content, pleased at the result that they both get to benefit from the speaking squirrels. The hunt does bring satisfaction, and with it the butcher’s palm covering the slice he’d caused with the bloodbane until he’s fairly certain it’s clotted enough to remove his hand and snag a handkerchief to tie around it. It takes caution for him to tie it with his teeth, without shredding it from the sharpness of said teeth, but he manages it well enough as he steps over to the log to collect the squirrel.
He sits beside her, meticulously slicing the meat off of the bones and collects the pale parts in a small little pile – sharing the meat with her in a playful little trade the both of them start – Squirrel meat for squirrel bones, back and forth. “I am also excited.” He offers her, shooting her a sheepish smile – one beneath the typical exterior of overconfidence that the butcher often exudes. “Inever thought it would ever be a possibility.” Comes the other admission – the tone soft as they continue to work.
It’s idle conversation the rest of the time, about the excitement and the hopes that he says yes and the hope that he’ll manage to find a time soon to ask. And, as the gentleman he is, he walks her back toward her home with the bag of bones hung from his belt and thanks her for her company, departing after a shared drink of celebration and a promise he’d send a letter as soon as he could.
- FIN
He sits beside her, meticulously slicing the meat off of the bones and collects the pale parts in a small little pile – sharing the meat with her in a playful little trade the both of them start – Squirrel meat for squirrel bones, back and forth. “I am also excited.” He offers her, shooting her a sheepish smile – one beneath the typical exterior of overconfidence that the butcher often exudes. “Inever thought it would ever be a possibility.” Comes the other admission – the tone soft as they continue to work.
It’s idle conversation the rest of the time, about the excitement and the hopes that he says yes and the hope that he’ll manage to find a time soon to ask. And, as the gentleman he is, he walks her back toward her home with the bag of bones hung from his belt and thanks her for her company, departing after a shared drink of celebration and a promise he’d send a letter as soon as he could.
- FIN
Astaroth
beg me for forgiveness
