~ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒫𝑜𝑒𝓉 ~

Unfortunately, for the fox, Butcher 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 miss details. 𝙀𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 when someone — or a 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 — tried to hide things from him. Squinting slightly, his head tilted as he tracked her slow movements — an expression of mild amusement mixed with exhaustion already washed over his features. “‘N jus’ 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 the fuck do ya think 𝙮𝙚𝙧 scamperin’ off t’, eh? What, ya think yer 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 jus’ ‘cause ya got ears the size o’ 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨?” Letting out a sharp scoff, the raven-haired Brit stepped directly into her path, folding his arms across his chest as he looked down at her. “What’s wit’ the limp, luv? ‘N don’t try ‘n give me the w’ole 𝙄'𝙢 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚 bollocks. Ya look like a three-legged stool in a gale-force 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙. So, let’s see it.”

“Ah well.”

“That ring a bell?”

“You were telling me about your memory issues.”

“About your… memory…condition.”

“I see. Well, if it’s any consolation, im sorry.”

He gives a slow nod of his head. “Injury or were you born like this? If you don’t mind me askin’”

“Got memory problems?”

“Um…Well I just sat down a couple moments ago after spooking you…?”

He raises an eyebrow, void black eyes regarding her with a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and concern “You okay there, kid?”

“So, other than getting spooked by an old man, how’s your day been?” He asks, attempting to make conversation

He gives a small hum in response, moving to take a seat with a grunt, his leg brace squeaking

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook ya.”