‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ ,

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[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

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⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ˳༄꠶ 🌾
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[ᅟᅟskullcrusher, @sainticide]

today, i’m the butcher. tomorrow, i might be the cattle.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

No. I’ll drink it. Don’t worry about it, really.

[𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐟𝑦͟𝑜͟𝑢. @ghvstofyous]

i can remake it.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

Sitting on the porch with the shotgun in his lap, watching the treeline.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

It’s —- don’t worry about it.

[𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐟𝑦͟𝑜͟𝑢. @ghvstofyous]

oh — sorry.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

he steps out of the barn and onto the path back towards the house.

“Company is few an’ far between out here, I s’pose I shouldn’t waste the opportunity for socializin’ when it presents itself. Or else, I’ll become one of the animals.”

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

He can feel the study, and although it doesn’t seem at all like judgement —- he shrinks from it all the same. No use in making a friend, everything he touches turns to shit.

“I got nothin’ but time, Jud.”

Malachai winks, hands sliding back into his pockets before »

[𝓳ud .ೃ࿔ @tdmascus]

would be lovely, if you have the time.”

he finds himself smiling back, gently gesturing towards the house—too used to leading others around. giving one last glance at the kitten, his mind goes somewhere else entirely; he’s interested in knowing more about this man.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

“Yeah? And how would you know?”

Half a look is tossed over his shoulder as the water is turned on, waiting for it to get warm until he chunks the carafe in a mug of soapy water to ‘soak’.

“Ever been cursed ‘for?”

[ᅠ𝒟ancingᅠwithᅠmys͟e͟lf. @wishfullyborn]

“no such thing as curses”

he scoffs, eyes following the other's movement.

“just some real bad luck”

[ᅟᅟskullcrusher, @sainticide]

i confuse instinct for desire — isn't BITE also TOUCH?

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

He rubs the back of his neck, squinting at the presented part

“ ... Mm. That makes sense. Thought it was just part of my curse,” he reaches forward and plucks it out of the other’s hand, heading for the sink.

[ᅠ𝒟ancingᅠwithᅠmys͟e͟lf. @wishfullyborn]

fingers easily pick it apart within short seconds. the faulty piece is presented.

“yer supposed t' take this out to clean every once 'n a while, yanno? else the muck builds up and corrodes it”

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

he blows out a sigh and gestures towards the pot with the foul brew.

have at it.

[ᅠ𝒟ancingᅠwithᅠmys͟e͟lf. @wishfullyborn]

lemme see that thing.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

hell if i know ... made it like one should. must be the pot.

[ᅠ𝒟ancingᅠwithᅠmys͟e͟lf. @wishfullyborn]

how th' hell do ya mess up coffee?

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

“Nice to meet you, Jud. We should give Lucifer here some privacy to scarf down the scraps —- I can make some tea ... if you’d like. Up at the house.”

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

Malachi is surprised at the feel of the priest’s grip —- calloused, a working man’s hands. Like his own. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but not that.

“Oh, I know the meanin’. My folks never let me forget it. Ain’t much of a messenger, though. Unless the »

[𝓳ud .ೃ࿔ @tdmascus]

beautiful name.”

the priest firmly shakes his hand. looking into his eyes, his name echoes inside of his head; malachai, the final prophet.

“father jud duplenticy, to be more precise. but i honestly don’t mind if you just call me jud.”

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

message is on how to fuck up a farm with a quickness.”

He smiles; a small gesture that flits away awful quick. Mal holds the eye contact for a moment longer before he looks away, stepping back with an awkward clearing of his throat. »

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

Coffee tastes burnt.

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

I wasn’t raised Catholic.”

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

He doubts the clergyman’s words about the cat, but they serve to comfort him nonetheless. A part of him just wishes the fucking thing would come inside and be a normal pet.

“I s’pose he sticks ‘round for some reason or another, if just out of spite.”

He scratches »

[𝓳ud .ೃ࿔ @tdmascus]

its name, but the devil must not be named in vain, and one can never be too safe.

“what’s your name, son?”

[‍ ‍ ‍ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ ⌖ ᶠᵃʳᵉ †𝖍𝖊𝖊 ʷᵉˡˡ , @reapsowsin]

at his chin, eyes on the damp hay beneath. He doesn’t acknowledge the condolences, had plenty of those —- don’t need any more.

“Malachai,” he remembers his manners, seemingly, and reaches out a hand for the other to shake.

“Should I just call you 𝘍ather or ... ? »