#fearsgod

     ❝     you don't have to finish it,     ❞     because it's nearly pitiful watching her attempt to scarf down the remainder of the cuisine by force——     why @fearsgod feels the need to do that is beyond them.     ❝     if you're trying to eat it because you don't want to hurt my feelings you'd be happy to know that i didn't make any of that,     i bought it.     ❞     [   . . .   ]     ♡ !    

[   . . .   ]                    it's   not   particularly   hard   to   sneak   up   on    her ,   not   when   his   footsteps   hold   the   same   finesse   as   those   of   a   cat   ——   a   technique   he'd   learned   during   his   brief   time   with   the   shuumatsuban ,   at   the   tender   age   of   thirteen .   (   one   of   the   countless   skills   he's   come   to   use   almost   religiously   :   it's   like   second   nature ,   done   so   without   much   thought .   )   he   nearly   elicits   the   laugh   that   bubbles   in   the   back   of   his   throat ,   holds   it   back   with   fervor   in   order   to   not   blow   his   cover   too   quickly   ——   he'd   never   forgive   himself   if   his   plan   was   foiled   by   none   other   than   himself ,   the   disappointment   would   be   immeasurable .   [   not   like   he's   a   stranger   to   ruining   things  .   ]   there's   a   brief   moment   of   hesitation ,   of   weighing   the   pros   &   cons ,   of   reconsidering   his   next   course   of   action   but   ultimately ,   he   follows   through .   the   tap   of   her   shoulder   that   follows   is   gentle ,   though   he   gives   her   no   time   to   actually   react   to   the   touch ,   before  @fearsgod   can   fully   comprehend   the   atmosphere   at   hand   tohma   is   already   multiple   steps   ahead   ——   it's   with   ease   that   he   picks   her   up ,   reminescent   of   the   way   children   hold   up   felines ,   their   paws   dangling   aimlessly   in   the   air   /   the   smile   that   situates   itself   'pon   face   is   bright ,   mimics   the   beams   of   the   sun .   ❝   hi ,   marcie .   ❞

_____

It was another quiet day in the countryside. The village of Honeywood was full of children's laughter, happy smiles and the smell of baked goods. Snowdown was here, and the mood was festive for all the residents.

In the tavern of the village, a dragonblooded man prepared drinks, his tail following swaying him as he chatted with the familiar patrons. His horns were the color of amber and gold, like stone that builds into an edge. He stood tall, at six feet and five, with a build that spoke of training and combat, rather than a chef.

The assumption wouldn't be false either. The countryside was safe because of him after all. Monsters and vile creatures walked the night in recent years, urban legends becoming more and more common and more and more real. That said, few monsters can match the ferocity of the king of beasts, a dragon.

Well, Ferenir was only a human with the blood of one, but it was good enough for the troubles of the place.

As he came out of the kitchen with a large plate of food, talking with his mother, the owner, about an order getting mixed up, the door opened and a woman walked in. A woman he had not seen before, and considering Honeywood was rather small, it only meant she came from afar.

To his experience, no one came here unless it was for trouble or trade, and she did not look like a merchant. The tall man gave the plate to his mother, who went off, and instead leaned on the counter with a smile.

"What did you say you were looking for?" Clothes shopping wasn't a skill Beelzebub possessed, but he was willing to step out of his comfort zone for her sake. It left him confused as he skimmed through the racks of shirts on the wall, the colors and styles blurring together in his brain, yet he didn't beg that they leave and seek out dinner because Marceline mattered to him more than his fuzzy mind and empty stomach.

@fearsgod approaches . . .

The herald looks up from the well he’s sitting at. Eyes shimmering with an array of colors only for a brief moment. Brow knit as he ponders in silence before speaking carefully. Confusion lacing his voice.

   he’d spent the latter half of a day tracking a MAN ON FIRE. a common occurrence for a gilded moon alteration. three local reports of aggravated arson punctuated by golden flames, particularly at schools-- standard repertoire for a MAN ON FIRE. the repeated pattern of attacking schools narrowed down the subject, at least. could be a teacher. could be a student. who knew what the moon decided to host itself as this time around.

   though, seems he’d be mounting another worry atop his already generous pile of the fucking things.

   slight insignificant look to his peripheral, tone and expression muted.