#prophettrott

The god of lies had no problem waiting for those many, many months and watching over the prophet as his plans attempted to create action. A few years flew by as well, and when there was nothing close, the silver tongued blond grew impatient, and went to seek out said prophet. 

Once finding them, he so simply beat them to a pulp, until they were begging for his mercy, and thrown into a silver bird’s cage that would slice an appendage off every time it was stuck out from the cage. So, perhaps if that shaking and visible blood wasn’t enough, our dearest Trott could soak in his own blood even further. 

In matters of half an hour, the sparkling emerald hues appeared with snake-like slits in their eyes- his hands placed behind his back as the leather gloves tapped at his watch impatiently. He sounded nearly as seductive and interested in their conversation as before, but seemed more so as a violin that was reaching the highest pitch upon strings- that would soothe in the least comforting fashion, yet bring the listener to be addicted to hearing the sound. His voice even echoed off of the walls and darkness around, as the only light would be down on the prophet, bringing some to reflect off of the incredibly cold metal of the cage. 

“The motor is busted, that much I can tell.”

It was a simple observation, something that probably the both of them noticed already, but it was something to fill the silence with nonetheless.

No matter how far the god had been travelling to look about the world, he had bothered to take a nap under a tree. Well, he had been reading, and a colder air of night surely had began to have him feign his sense of exhaustion, but out of all things- 

Let’s say he had been in progress of making a hammock, at least - and that is why he has been stopping, as to search for materials to make a proper amount of rope to fit his own figure three times. The book placed upon his chest and glasses partially lop-sided likely threw off his appearance, but he did not mind until woken.