/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
Honestly, it’s for the best that the trek goes so smoothly. Likely because Asta doesn’t want to give Dantalion any insight into the way he’s so horribly confused about the state of the world. Torchline itself is warm, not as warm as the Climb, but it feels a little better in terms of being able to see people wander and mill about like little ants before they land.
And the second they do? The little blonde fucker’s nowhere to be seen.
Fine, fair enough. At least he knows where the MaVeRiCk will be when he’s finally ready to go and see the shithead.
For now, though, it gives Astaroth a reason to reorient himself – get some new clothes, get a shower, reverting back into the old version of himself while he comes to terms with everything new. So he’s managed such a thing – attaining a room in the city, getting a shower to get the blood and ash and dirt from his long hair, streaking it back so that it rounds out around his horns the way he always preferred it to, and tried to get his clothes somewhat cleaner.
But gods, they’re dated. So it’s his first step when he leaves. His figure cuts a tall and thin line through the crowds as he peruses the merchant shops for a new set, something that likely was hard to find in Torchline, but Astaroth is fairly certain he could find something appealing. And it’s where he hovers by a deliciously maroon coat, cut with gilded buttons and tails that has him lingering, dark eyes taking it in as he debates internally.
And the second they do? The little blonde fucker’s nowhere to be seen.
Fine, fair enough. At least he knows where the MaVeRiCk will be when he’s finally ready to go and see the shithead.
For now, though, it gives Astaroth a reason to reorient himself – get some new clothes, get a shower, reverting back into the old version of himself while he comes to terms with everything new. So he’s managed such a thing – attaining a room in the city, getting a shower to get the blood and ash and dirt from his long hair, streaking it back so that it rounds out around his horns the way he always preferred it to, and tried to get his clothes somewhat cleaner.
But gods, they’re dated. So it’s his first step when he leaves. His figure cuts a tall and thin line through the crowds as he peruses the merchant shops for a new set, something that likely was hard to find in Torchline, but Astaroth is fairly certain he could find something appealing. And it’s where he hovers by a deliciously maroon coat, cut with gilded buttons and tails that has him lingering, dark eyes taking it in as he debates internally.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
