Try relax, shoulders back, feel the accent so savoury like caviar tea. Taste edge of the blade, something bronze mixed with ivory, magnolia-chic.

Max:
This is Heel. He wants a snack.
He wants to peel, some off the back.
Can he get to wittling?

See, when max wants to play, there's no way you can say nicher against it. Heel had sealed the deal, blood had, had to spill. He'd found his meal!

Max:
Let's. get... TO WITTLING!!!

In a flash, he slashes taxfully. Actually, grappling, handling, handful of heave hoes, as he slopes that, and it goes. Skin. Flesh. Arteries. Deep tissue. Bone. Squelch, crunch, twist, pull, snap heave hoe, as he slopes that, it goes. On.. and on.. until Heel had eaten his lot.

See, Max. He wasn't mad, he's just a lad with a bestfriend since dum-dums and naps. But here's the happs. He's been attached to this axe, so he naturally acts like, it actually has an amazing personality. He just wants to eat you. Too.

To that poor girl, who chuckled and hurled slurs and words never to be heard, asserted, stated, orated, bated with breath that seemed constipated to say an array of crazy shit to a possibly crazy person. out of stead.
Now, who's in whose head?

I digress...

Max:
He's not always starving, but pardon the
hardened part of him. But if you laugh at
him, Heel feels real feels, so Heel will, will
Max to wield Heel, to swill that jaw off
your face for making Heel feel unreal.

Heel... how was your meal?

Heel:




© Haiych