// And they glow, with the help of Lucifer Yellow //
“It is the Eirachi’s turn, I would assume.” The butcher laments alongside Danta, outside and leaning against the wall of the Backrooms as they await the delivery. Dark gloves adorn his hands as well, but without a magical jacket to keep him warm the butcher has opted for a thick black turtleneck beneath a long wool coat, and boots made specifically to ward away any potential chill. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he looms like Danta’s more murderous shadow, though rather than it having the hard edge of Leafchange, it’s more so because of the weather and the exhaustion that lines his face and body.
He watches as the woodcutters unload the multiple stacks of fireword, not exerting himself more than he has to until Danta calls it good enough. And honestly? He’d rather they cart it all in, but Danta seems decisive and the butcher imagines that the woodcutters have many other deliveries to get to than help them lug it all the way in. So he pushes off the wall, straightening up just in time for his fiancé to very nearly lose his balance and get a face full of the fire – his hand extending out to steady him once he settles himself and fire licks at his lover’s fingers. “Of course they are.” He sighs, dramatics entering his accented tone as he conjures his own Scorch magic, drifting to the other side of the cart to thaw the seams and hinges, watching as water drips from them only to promptly start to freeze in the small puddle they make.
“Perhaps by next year we will have found a better alternative than metal in winter.” His nose wrinkles as he moves onto the next section, fire flaring a little move through the hinges.
He watches as the woodcutters unload the multiple stacks of fireword, not exerting himself more than he has to until Danta calls it good enough. And honestly? He’d rather they cart it all in, but Danta seems decisive and the butcher imagines that the woodcutters have many other deliveries to get to than help them lug it all the way in. So he pushes off the wall, straightening up just in time for his fiancé to very nearly lose his balance and get a face full of the fire – his hand extending out to steady him once he settles himself and fire licks at his lover’s fingers. “Of course they are.” He sighs, dramatics entering his accented tone as he conjures his own Scorch magic, drifting to the other side of the cart to thaw the seams and hinges, watching as water drips from them only to promptly start to freeze in the small puddle they make.
“Perhaps by next year we will have found a better alternative than metal in winter.” His nose wrinkles as he moves onto the next section, fire flaring a little move through the hinges.
Astaroth
// I had it, concerning madness, sink into satin, focus on the static //
