[ dextera would not have preferred it, actually, but it’s not that he’s bothered by the sight at all—which is strange in itself, but this is exactly the kind of thing he’s been planning for. (the sight of blood disgusts him as equally as it makes his heart beat faster, and there’s a strange but familiar feeling of intrigued nausea, at the way crowley rips the poor animal apart.) ]
…
[ slowly, he shakes his head, and he makes a nasty offering of his own—a plump, fresh deer heart, drawn out of his pocket. it’s clean of any fabric pickings, which probably means he at least had it in a bag! yum! ]
iii...
…
[ slowly, he shakes his head, and he makes a nasty offering of his own—a plump, fresh deer heart, drawn out of his pocket. it’s clean of any fabric pickings, which probably means he at least had it in a bag! yum! ]