// we haven't won, and if we win, //
“Oh, is that so?” The butcher teases her compliment – because honestly, he hasn’t heard that either. But a part of him does find it amusing that she might be trying to make it so he doesn’t question it. He can’t imagine it getting worse for them, at least. They knew all there was to know about one another, so where could it truly go wrong?
As for the mention of the asshole that turned into an ursur, the butcher’s attention snaps up from the book he’s perusing to raise his dark brows at her in silent question. “Ursurs are terrible.” He laments – he’d had to fight them quite a bit back when he’d lived in Halo. But that was ages ago and he hasn’t faced one since then, thankfully. He doesn’t envy her for that battle.
He returns to his perusing when she tells him that it wasn’t so much bets as it was a game of truth or dare and he can’t help the soft snort that passes from his nose, his head still angled down toward the book despite how his gaze lifts with curiosity. “Oh, good choice darling.” The butcher praises with a warmer laugh. Blonde versus the embarrassment of being nothing more than a rat caught by its tail.
He can’t blame her for that one. For the other one, though, the butcher’s laugh grows a bit brighter and ends in a sigh. “How mortifying. I could not even imagine.” It reminds him to not play that game with her, because the last thing he’d do is shave his hair off. Actually, the last thing he’d do is any alterations to his appearance at the end of the day.
Dropping his attention back to the book, he scribbles down a few notes before flipping through the pages again. “So who ultimately won?” He asks, already assuming that Colt had lost based off of shaving her head.
As for the mention of the asshole that turned into an ursur, the butcher’s attention snaps up from the book he’s perusing to raise his dark brows at her in silent question. “Ursurs are terrible.” He laments – he’d had to fight them quite a bit back when he’d lived in Halo. But that was ages ago and he hasn’t faced one since then, thankfully. He doesn’t envy her for that battle.
He returns to his perusing when she tells him that it wasn’t so much bets as it was a game of truth or dare and he can’t help the soft snort that passes from his nose, his head still angled down toward the book despite how his gaze lifts with curiosity. “Oh, good choice darling.” The butcher praises with a warmer laugh. Blonde versus the embarrassment of being nothing more than a rat caught by its tail.
He can’t blame her for that one. For the other one, though, the butcher’s laugh grows a bit brighter and ends in a sigh. “How mortifying. I could not even imagine.” It reminds him to not play that game with her, because the last thing he’d do is shave his hair off. Actually, the last thing he’d do is any alterations to his appearance at the end of the day.
Dropping his attention back to the book, he scribbles down a few notes before flipping through the pages again. “So who ultimately won?” He asks, already assuming that Colt had lost based off of shaving her head.
Astaroth
// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //
