sixthiterationlogs | I accused him there with his tortured lamb

WHO: Bobo Del Rey
WHERE: Butcher Shop, South village
WHEN: Throughout November
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Talk of animal death and slaughter

There was a time when most of Bobo's life wasn't taken up with drinking and herding revenant cats and general being a fairly psychotic bastard. It's a time over a century in the past, and until coming to this place, he's been glad to leave it in the past, as buried as the man that had caused the curse that had changed everything for Bobo. This place though, it's like a damn time capsule in many ways, and it is finding a way to get under his skin and stir up memories of a man long dead though his body continues on.

He had once been a man who helped, whose entire life was devoted to another, to doing what he could for his town and for a hundred plus years he has lamented that being that man had caused him not only to die - that he was prepared for - but to be cursed and damned for it. People paid for that, yet now in this place, that all feels like someone distant, just as Robert Svane has felt to Bobo for so long.

Here in this place, everything has changed and much as he might deny it, Bobo is changing with it. Including needing to do more than cause hate and discontent. A talk with Margaery at the inn led him to spending a few days hunting and trekking through the areas to the north, away from others for the most part. Trying to clear his mind, to remember who he is, not was. Except even that didn't work. That man who died apparently wasn't nearly as gone and forgotten as Bobo likes to believe. In the end he ended up at the butcher shop with his coat hung on a nail, water brought up from the river and set to work scrubbing the place down.

Taking more time than he had so far with the house since poisoning the village is not acceptable. Working hard, harder than he has in a long while, using the soap left there on the counter and rags he made from those damn walking blanket things. It takes several days, leaving the doors and windows open to air the place out as he goes. Going so far that the first night he just curls up with his coat, not wanting to make the hike back to the North village.

By the end of the first week, the place is clean enough you could eat off the floor. Or at the very least eat what is killed and slaughtered there and likely not die. Maybe killing things isn't the best therapy for the aggression he still feels, the nature of the beast as it were, but he figures it isn't hurting people so, for now, it will work. Both for his own kills and, if others bring them in, butchering items for others in the village as well.

Eventually he can be found there most of the daylight hours slaughtering those creature he kills. Using that space to butcher them, and to cure and tan the hides. Some of the meat and fish he takes over to the Inn. Some of it he starts processing with red salt, hoping it will do the same as the salt curing he'd done before. Some he puts out on racks to dry, thinking he can turn it into pemmican for the winter.

Some days he can be found scrounging wood, looking to build a smoking shed out back to use on the salted meat when it's ready, knowing he's starting too late in the season to hold them all through the winter, but he doesn't care. He cares that some of the oppressive weight of hatred and loathing is lifted from his shoulders while he works, and for now that is enough.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"That's it," he whispers, encouraging him with every sound he makes. He's beautiful like this, a wild dichotomy that he finds breathtaking. "God, yes, like that," he groans, finding his own pleasure in Bull's release, pressing in close to him.

Bull groans and leans against Bobo. "Fuck that feels so good." He kisses Bobo's shoulder. "Thank you sir." He smiles and pulls back. "You're not half bad at this."

He smiles at that, stroking the back of his knuckles along Bull's cheek. "You're not so bad yourself. Now, I'm going to untie you, make sure you're comfortable and okay. But this won't be the last time," he says in a low voice. "This will definitely happen again."

Bull purrs at the stroke. "Stay here tonight?" But he smiles at the promise. Oh he intends to make sure it does. Damn, Bobo, but this was good.

He takes his time, undoing the bonds so that Bull's limbs can ease out of them, not wanting anything to be sudden or rough in letting him go. Not free though. He's not wanting to let him go at all.

"I'd like that," he admits. "Can't say it's something I've done much in my life. Definitely sounds good."

"I haven't done it much either. Not like this. I want to stay with you." Bull flexes his fingers and then reaches out to place his hand on Bobo's side. "You know what the most frustrating thing about being tied up is? Not getting to touch you. It is part of the fun too but... you know me, I am used to being in control."

Bobo takes that touch as invitation, shifting in closer to Bull and pressing against his side. "It's part of what I love," he admits. "Because I know you want to, and I suspect if you really wanted to, you could be free, and yet you give me that control. It... it means a lot," he admits, leaning up to nuzzle and kiss along Bull's jaw.

"Your trust? It's one of the most amazing things ever in my life, Bull."

((seems like a good place to end the thread?))

I accused him there with his tortured lamb

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