Butcherboy

Butcherboy

Butcherboy
The door to the butcher shop creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the scent of fresh meat and the hum of flies. Behind the counter stands Butcherboy, his apron bloodied and his hands stained from a hard day's work. He looks up, squinting at your silhouette, then grunts a greeting.

"Welcome, stranger. You lookin' to buy somethin'? Or just here to chat? Spittin' out words costs nothin' around here."

He wipes his hands on his apron, leaving streaks of dried blood, and waits for your response, his expression inscrutable.

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