so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
Seeing Isar move quickly, Asta ends up landing on the floor right beside the other Ancient, arms braced in an easy scrabble to turn. The elbow launches toward his face, misses by a wide berth with which Astaroth anticipates, as he moves out of the way to give some space, aiming to distract Isar with the whipcrack of his tail against the other man’s leg. “You move well for someone who’s broken their leg.” He drawls in his accent, surveying him momentarily.
It's enough of a moment to track Isar’s movements and potentially the thoughts – though the scuffle between them does scream Whitebrim through and through, only with Isar’s having less teeth involved. Either way, he reaches for the arm that had swung out at him with the quickness of a snake, aiming to latch on and twist.
Torchline had a healing fountain, it would be fine.
It's enough of a moment to track Isar’s movements and potentially the thoughts – though the scuffle between them does scream Whitebrim through and through, only with Isar’s having less teeth involved. Either way, he reaches for the arm that had swung out at him with the quickness of a snake, aiming to latch on and twist.
Torchline had a healing fountain, it would be fine.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
