// go get your gun, get your gun //
He pauses in his work to take the bell Deimos has made, dropping it into the little drawer of his own personal items and effects with a grateful little nod. He gets the bell he’s been working on etched into the bone, pausing as the hand is extended toward him with the mention of a deal – taking it into his own hands, warm with the heat of the fire permeating through his body.
Withdrawing to get started on the bell again, he spies the golden glow and the charcoal and paper that are conjured and the butcher’s brows rise, captivated briefly by the display of magic before he takes them. “Thank you.” He hums, setting it on the counter briefly before he starts to sketch out the design. It’s a long jacket, a trench coat of sorts with lapels and a design that is similar to Danta’s own red one. In elegant handwriting, the butcher puts little arrows and explanations over the fabric – velvet and wool, a deep burgundy, and the like. All things he explains verbally when he slides the paper over and shoots Deimos a too wide, too sharp grin.
“Give me a moment.” He pauses, shifting into his fyrhund shift to take the bone bell into his maw and angles toward the brazier with the fire when he breathes out fire from his maw, the scorched ashen appearance coating the bell. He does it a few more times upon rotating the bell, in order to get the etchings dark rather than the entirety of the bell, anticipating when he shifts back he’ll start cleaning up the sides and edges and bringing them back to a usual bone hue.
Withdrawing to get started on the bell again, he spies the golden glow and the charcoal and paper that are conjured and the butcher’s brows rise, captivated briefly by the display of magic before he takes them. “Thank you.” He hums, setting it on the counter briefly before he starts to sketch out the design. It’s a long jacket, a trench coat of sorts with lapels and a design that is similar to Danta’s own red one. In elegant handwriting, the butcher puts little arrows and explanations over the fabric – velvet and wool, a deep burgundy, and the like. All things he explains verbally when he slides the paper over and shoots Deimos a too wide, too sharp grin.
“Give me a moment.” He pauses, shifting into his fyrhund shift to take the bone bell into his maw and angles toward the brazier with the fire when he breathes out fire from his maw, the scorched ashen appearance coating the bell. He does it a few more times upon rotating the bell, in order to get the etchings dark rather than the entirety of the bell, anticipating when he shifts back he’ll start cleaning up the sides and edges and bringing them back to a usual bone hue.
Astaroth
// and lets find out what it does //
