send me ‘spill the tea’ for my muse to talk about an ex of theirs || ACCEPTING

@lambsgone asked: cue priest asking taker to spill the tea about edge so they can bond over the absolute headache they got from him LMAOOOO  

“Ugh, that sum’bitch.” Taker mutters, taking a swig of his beer. “I ever tell you what he was like in the Ministry?” He leans back in his chair, casting a quick glance up to the ceiling. 

“It was him and his brother. Christian. They came to me with caskets, and these were just the cheapest, shittiest pine boxes I ever seen. I mean, these things were paper thin, no stain, pretty sure they got the lining off of a sofa…” He shakes his head. The grimace that tugs at his features is genuine, faded though it is. “Found out later they stole ‘em. All I could think was, if you’re gonna steal a casket, why get the ugliest, flimsiest ones on this earth?” 

“It wasn’t until much later that I even started asking why they were sleeping in caskets to begin with.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. A tired, resigned sort of amusement, but amusement nonetheless. “They never had a good reason for it. Didn’t matter at the time, though, I was just so mad about them bringing those crates on my land. So I made ‘em better ones. These ones were black walnut, jacobean stain, varnished with tung oil, wrought iron hardware. Tight weave natural velvet lining, man, I’m talking, these things were nice. Even put cupholders in ‘em. I don’t usually do that, but the ones they brought were just so pathetic, I couldn’t help but go the extra mile. Had ‘em chopped and added to the next pyre. If my parents had been alive to see ‘em…” Another swig of his drink. 

“Also, he whines when he feeds.”