Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Hissing a soft laugh as Danta sneaks the kiss against his neck, the butcher settles with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “I am honored, darling.” He purrs, his hand squeezing his hip. Soon enough, though, they come upon the Mathair and the butcher takes it in with a quiet appreciation. Had he ever had a tree this large back when he was still a scout, it would have been the prime example of a safe place to recover and recuperate. All things he doesn’t really need these days, but the Ferrox in him appreciates it all the more.
Parting, however reluctantly from the Maverick so he can leave his offerings, he steps away as he scans the environment – only then does he spot a speaking squirrel slipping out from a nearby tree – aiming to try and steal an offering from the other side of the Mathair. And that’s when the butcher strikes, the cane remaining in its usual cane form – hard and bladed, sharp and lashing out before the squirrel has a chance to realize what’s exactly happening.
It takes two strikes before the squirrel ceases to move again – covered in two precisely slashed gouges. The blood drips from it as he picks it up, not at all bothered in the slightest by it as he returns to Danta’s side with a playful wink. “This should do, I hope.” He hums, setting it beside the lingering pool of liquor Danta had dumped out, the blood mixing with the liquor to seep into her roots. “Thank you for the excitement this season.” Comes the quiet offering as he arranges the speaking squirrel just right. “This one was attempting to be a thief.” In case the Mathair hasn’t seen, though he assumes she has.
Parting, however reluctantly from the Maverick so he can leave his offerings, he steps away as he scans the environment – only then does he spot a speaking squirrel slipping out from a nearby tree – aiming to try and steal an offering from the other side of the Mathair. And that’s when the butcher strikes, the cane remaining in its usual cane form – hard and bladed, sharp and lashing out before the squirrel has a chance to realize what’s exactly happening.
It takes two strikes before the squirrel ceases to move again – covered in two precisely slashed gouges. The blood drips from it as he picks it up, not at all bothered in the slightest by it as he returns to Danta’s side with a playful wink. “This should do, I hope.” He hums, setting it beside the lingering pool of liquor Danta had dumped out, the blood mixing with the liquor to seep into her roots. “Thank you for the excitement this season.” Comes the quiet offering as he arranges the speaking squirrel just right. “This one was attempting to be a thief.” In case the Mathair hasn’t seen, though he assumes she has.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
