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I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-18-2025
This season has been challenging, but he can already feel the shifting winds that Leafchange often brought, changing the leaves from their usual greenery to the orange and yellow reflective of fire itself. Though, the steps that take him toward the Temple are littered with the debris of falling leaves, proof enough that the end of the season was growing closer and closer and selfishly the butcher cannot wait for this sensation to leave him.
For now, though, it’s here. And he doesn’t want to wait too much longer to complete his quest. So as his steps guide him up the stairs of the Temple and within it, the butcher is dressed down in a pair of pants that he can clean easily, a shirt that’s billowy but tight at the wrists that can be removed easily, and a glittering assortment of blades to join the cacophony in the rage room.
“[say]Charlie, darling! If you can hear me and have the time, please meet me in the rage room.[/say]” He calls, his accented voice echoing down the halls, reflected with the flickering light of the oil lamps that dot the hallways. He makes his way toward the rage room, to the slab in the middle where he sets all of the blades out in a prim and proper place, straight and well practiced with each one’s edge gleaming to reveal impossibly sharp edges. And beside it? The haunting lace of the villi he’d swiped from his most recent quest.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-20-2025
The Temple hums with Charlie's touch; incense smoke curling like lazy serpents from the offerings she’d just lit, wax pooling in rivulets down half-spent candles, the faint copper tang of blood already sweet in the air. She’s in the middle of arranging a little altar tableau that promises far more scandal than sanctity when the sound of his voice pours through the stone and flame like music meant only for her.
Her smile unfurls as easily as a silk slip sliding from bare shoulders, and in a moment the altar is forgotten. Charlie always dresses for an audience, even if she’s her own, and today is no exception: a black dress that clings like sin, heels that click sharp against the stone, blonde hair spilling in a deliciously unruly mess around her shoulders. She doesn’t walk so much as strut, tail swaying behind her with every step, and when the flickering oil lamps give her that golden glow, she drinks it up like applause.
But why bother with doors and sidesteps when she has so much more flair at her disposal? A quick dart! and she’s suddenly there, perched on the edge of the cold stone slab with a wicked grin, eye-level with the butcher now and utterly unconcerned about intruding on his neat little arrangement. He'd called for her, after all.
Charlie's blue gaze falls on the spread of gleaming blades and the lace of strange, living tissue, and her gasp is pure theatre, one hand flying to her chest as if her heart might just burst with scandalized delight. [say]"Oooh, are we going hunting?"[/say] she purrs, lashes batting, the words dripping with mock innocence even as her grin gives her away.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-20-2025
Placing the blades and the shawl with a precise movement, it’s almost immediately undone when Charlie pops up atop the slab. The butcher straightens, his smile bright as he straightens up and reaches out to tuck a stray strand of gold that had come loose behind her ear. “[say]You look stunning, darling.[/say]” He murmurs, before he finally answers her question. It’s with a small shake of his head and an apologetic gleam to his gaze that’s glittering with mischief all the while when he speaks.
“[say]Alas, no hunting. But do not worry, there will still be blood.[/say]” He flashes a wink, the soft laugh leaving him as he gestures to the shawl. “[say]I require your help for a quest from our Dark Lady. I must spill enough of my blood to soak this lace with it, and I am somewhat worried I may stop before it is fully soaked.[/say]” Granted his penchant for surviving, he’d get far but perhaps not far enough, depending on where he is conscious wise.
Plucking a particularly sharp blade with a meticulously carved, stained mahogany handle, the twists it masterfully in his hand so that the handle is aimed toward her, the blade pinched between two of his long fingers. “[say]Will you help me?[/say]”
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-21-2025
Charlie wrinkles her nose in a show of mock-helpless affection as his fingers tuck that unruly lock of gold behind her ear, the gesture sweet enough to nearly undo her usual dramatics. But as he continues—no hunting, but blood—her blue eyes will flare wide, lashes fluttering, her tail giving a catlike flick as if begging him to go on.
Her gaze slides to the shawl, lips pursed in a thoughtful hum that’s more theatre than anything else, yet she still tilts her head as if weighing exactly how much crimson it would take to drown lace so delicate. Only then does she turn her attention back to the glittering spread of knives, a little shiver of realisation trailing down her spine as their purpose sharpens. [say]"Asta, you know I live for the messy assignments,"[/say] she purrs, plucking the proffered blade with the kind of reverence one might reserve for jewellery rather than an instrument of bloodletting. [say]"Of course I'll help."[/say] The blade balances prettily in her palm, and she tests the weight as though deciding if it was preferable to the instruments already present in the room. Then, with the barest smirk, she vanishes from the slab in a dart!, reappearing at the door just long enough to sweep it shut so the room's enchantments might fully take effect.
Another dart! and she’s beside him again, close enough that the air carries her perfume, the dagger glittering in one hand while the other wanders up the line of his arm. Fingertips tickle languidly along muscle, tracing the neat line of his sleeve until they reach his bicep, where she lingers with a teasing tap-tap-tap. Her grin curves wicked as her gaze roams the clothes he’s chosen, so much simpler than his usual splendour, but Charlie doubts if there's anything in the butcher's wardrobe that he'd be happy to simply ruin.
[say]"Not just for the sake of your clothes, but for efficiency, I think it'd be best if you were wearing less,"[/say] the priestess suggests with a raise of her dark eyebrows, knowing well not only how Asta's behaviour had changed with the arrival of Leafchange, but also with how careful he was about allowing physical touch. Still, if this was what Dygra had asked of him, Charlie was not about to shy away from the challenge.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-21-2025
His dark eyes light up when she plucks one of the blades from the table, inspecting it as though he might have a better idea in mind. Not that Asta would complain, of course, if she did have a preference for another one. He just happened to have quite a few lying around that he thought might be beneficial (given he’s the butcher). He brightens when she says she’ll help, though, his tail weaving behind him like a content canine as he beams his shark tooth smile toward her.
“[say]Perfect, darling.[/say]” He says on the heels of her dart! And when she returns, it’s with the room fully enclosed and the charm of keeping whatever they got up to in here solely in here that the butcher relaxes even more. He doesn’t shy away from her touch as it trails up his arm, to his bicep, over the clothes he wears that are far more dressed down than he typically was. So with a warm chuckle escaping him, he inclines his head as if in agreement. “[say]You do drive a vital point.[/say]”
Given the season, it’s far easier for the butcher to take the step back from the slab she’s settled on - to reach up and unbutton the shirt he wears so that he can slip it off and fold it neatly, keeping it on the far end of the slab of rock to prevent it from getting messy. But it also reveals all of his scars to her that he can’t recall if she’d actually fully seen with her own eyes rather than by touch. The gnarled scar tissue sits raised against his skin, flecks of other scars falling into the mixture here and there, dark pink ropes of tissue that pinch and pull with each movement - though it seems evident that Asta doesn’t care, so they must not bother him.
“[say]Now, where would you like me?[/say]” He asks, ensuring he hands her the reins.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-21-2025
Charlie hadn’t seen all of it before even if she did know about it; the full map of him laid bare, scar tissue raised like rivers carved into stone, the darker pink ropes tugging with each movement. For a breath, she lets her gaze linger, blue eyes drinking in every mark, but when they finally rise to his, they carry no pity, only something brighter, adoring and sharp as worship. Predators recognise each other, and Charlie has never shied away from the strength of survival, even in its most visceral form.
Her tail flicks in lazy rhythm behind her as she tilts her head, gaze wandering down the lines of him. It lingers where vein beats just beneath skin, at the slope of his throat, at the wrists that promise easy rivers if opened, and then again at those rare patches left untouched by scar. A hum vibrates from her throat, low and thoughtful, as if she were an artist assessing canvas rather than flesh. [say]"Scar tissue doesn’t bleed the same,"[/say] she muses idly, pressing the dagger’s tip into her own finger, twisting it without care as if to punctuate her point.
When her eyes return to him, there’s mischief in their gleam but weight in her words. She cocks her head, smile curving languid. [say]"It depends..on how fast or slow you want this to be, and how much pain you want wrapped into it. You and I both know there are places where a blade will bite and gush, and others where it will only sting and weep."[/say] Her voice softens, reverent, her grin tempered into something almost tender as she adds, [say]"The faster ways feel like dying. The slower…"[/say] she leans in just a fraction, her lips pulling slightly down at the edges, [say]"will feel more like torture."[/say]. He'd experienced both, but Charlie would leave it to the butcher to decide which aspects of his brutal past he might most like to avoid, if either.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-22-2025
He lets her take the scars in as he folds his clothes, each river of scar tissue a portion of a story. The appearance stretched and torn, like portions of his skin had been torn straight from his bones. (It’s precisely what had happened to him in the past.) There are smaller scars that accompany them, too, the ring-like scar tissue around his wrists that are softer and only truly noticeable from the discoloration compared to the rest of his flesh. Along his forearms sit prim and proper little slices - not from anything self harm related (Astaroth would never) but they are little blade scars left behind from the series of bloodbane he’s done in the past.
And aside from the occasional nick here and there, his shoulders and his sides are mostly scar free. So when he turns back to her as she debates where best to begin, the butcher’s lips twitch into a smile. “[say]It does not.[/say]” He’d learned that the hard way once he’d been completely healed and learned of the magic under his skin.
As for the rest of the task, however fast or slow he wished it to be, he’d imagined it would be something that would be slow and painful (only because he’d originally intended on doing it himself if Charlie was unable to help and he’d not wanted to run the risk of blacking out before he’d succeeded).
Humming thoughtfully, he regards her, fingers tapping against the stone of the slab he leans against. “[say]Given I have only experienced the thrill of nearly dying once as opposed to torture, let us go fast and quick, mm?[/say]” Bouncing his brows toward her, he flashes a bright grin. He was typically so careful with the bloodbane that he was nearly used to the slow drips of blood. Changing it up with the promise someone was there to drag him out if it went too far felt like the perfect call to make.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-25-2025
Her blue eyes go wide, lashes batting as if scandalized, though the smirk tugging at her lips betrays her. [say]"Fast and quick?"[/say] she echoes, voice dripping with suggestion, as though he’d just confessed to something entirely different. The tap-tap-tap of her crimson nails against the stone slab fills the space like a metronome, her tail coiling lazily behind her. [say]"Hop up, handsome,"[/say] she purrs, already plucking the lace into her hand and holding it aloft, testing the weave between her fingers as if she could divine whether it would drink greedily or force them both to linger.
Her chin tilts upward, gaze fixed on him with an expression far too sly for the innocence in her tone. [say]"Do you think you’ll be able to keep those hands to yourself?"[/say] she teases, before her glance slips sidelong toward the racks lining the walls. More than one set of handcuffs gleams there in the flicker of the lamps. Still, when she speaks again, her voice drops softer, reverent in the way only Charlie can be when blood and devotion are tangled together. [say]"I’m not worried about anything you might do to me in the process,"[/say] she murmurs, running her thumb across the edge of the lace. [say]"But if you've developed bloodboon..."[/say] Her eyes find his again, bright and piercing, [say]"..that could become a problem."[/say]
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-25-2025
The suggestion in her tone is easy to pick up — especially for him this season. Such that when she questions it, he lets the easy chuckle escape him as he turns to hop up onto the slab that appears like the center piece of their little rage room. “[say]Fast and quick.[/say]” He repeats with a wink once he’s settled, spying the too sly look at odds with the soft innocence of her tone. He knew she would be perfect for this, and he’s just lucky enough to have the opportunity of her availability to make it work.
“[say]I believe I can.[/say]” He answers her, though he catches her glance toward the wall where the cuffs sat and something within him sparks dark as he draws his arms in front of him, revealing to her the pale scars around his wrists that are smooth and flat, tail flicking slightly. “[say]I would rather avoid cuff-like bindings.[/say]” His shark tooth smile slants apologetically, but he thinks the scars on his wrists were answer enough. He’d spent enough time being chained to something. “[say]But if you must pin my hand down with a blade I will not be opposed to that.[/say]” Not that he thinks it’ll break through the determination he has set upon himself.
He also hasn’t been in that position in a very long time.
He shakes his head when she questions whether or not he’s attained bloodboon, his smile softer as if in anticipation. “[say]No bloodboon. Only bloodbane. Yet I imagine you will likely witness some effects from my haunt.[/say]” That was harder for the butcher to hide, especially if he’s indulging in as much pain as she’s willing to give.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-26-2025
Her gaze flicks to his wrists, to the pale smooth scars that speak louder than any words might. The skin looks rubbed raw by history, torn and healed and torn again, until it settled into the silence of friction burns that time could never quite erase. Charlie hums softly, a sound of easy acknowledgment, no questions pressed. She doesn’t need to; she knows, and besides, if he got handsy she was stronger than she looked and faster than most guessed. Still, the image of pinning his hand with a blade is enough to steal her breath, lashes lowering as allure curls hot through her chest. Gods, what an invitation.
[say]"Lie back for me,"[/say] she purrs, guiding him with a light touch, directing his head toward the slab’s edge. For all her height denied her, this would put his throat right at her shoulder, the line of his neck bared at the perfect angle. Her tail flicks idly behind her as her fingers trail across that strong column, gentle as a masseuse smoothing oils, though the weight of the moment is heavier than anything spa-like.
His mention of the haunt earns only the smallest nod, her lips curving in something that’s almost fond. She’s seen terrors before, danced with horrors that would make lesser hearts seize; Asta’s haunt would be no different. Her hand lifts to brush hair from his face, touch feather-light, and her voice softens with a kind of reverent promise. [say]"I’ll endure it as long as you do,"[/say] she murmurs, blue eyes steady, warm with understanding.
Then, with a little wrinkle of her nose, bright and affectionate, she lifts the dagger once more. The blade twirls between her fingers, catching the oil lamp light so it gleams like liquid fire, before she steps behind his head. Presence steady, aura humming warm and close, she lets the air hang thick with anticipation. [say]"Ready?"[/say] she asks, voice husky with both mischief and devotion, the tip of the blade poised in her hand like the beginning of a prayer.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-26-2025
Eternally grateful for the way Charlie simply knows and doesn’t need to ask, the butcher is more than ready to follow her guidance. As she tells him to lay back for her, he seems surprisingly not tense in the movement that has him twisting, legs lifting onto the slab that makes up the rage room’s center piece, his tail sweeping to the side to hang off the edge, its ashen tip flicking with anticipation.
She guides him into the perfect position, his horned head on the edge of the stone slab but he doesn’t quite bare his neck just yet. He ensures she understands the very real possibility of his haunt making a showing and when she nods her understanding and brushes her fingers through his hair with a very light touch, his dark gaze softens with understanding but hardens with acceptance and expectation.
His dark hair, grown out a touch longer, is soft where it falls in feathered waves as he tilts his head back to expose his throat – the butcher’s adams apple lifts with the swallow of his preparation, the slow and long inhale before the slow exhale follows it. “[say]I am ready, darling.[/say]” Careful to keep his hands tucked against the middle of his back so that he can pin them himself, he closes his eyes and waits for the sting of the blade from Charlie’s skilled hands.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-26-2025
Charlie lets him have a few seconds, enough to breathe, to brace, to accept. More than that and it would blur into cruelty, and they had already decided against torture. Respect was its own kind of ritual, and she offers it freely, knowing full well the weight of what she’s about to do. Even for a man like Asta, who had endured horrors written into every line of scar, the mind was not so easily numbed as flesh.
Stretching up onto her toes, Charlie bends low, her lips brushing his cheek in a fleeting kiss, her breath warm at his ear. [say]"You’re going to do amazing at this,"[/say] she whispers, her voice smooth and bright as silk ribbons, carrying all the affection and certainty she feels for him. The lace curls around her tail, held ready like a sacred net to catch the first spill of crimson.
And then the dagger bites. Not a cruel stab, but a decisive slice along the jugular, angled lengthwise so the vein parts and blood begins to ooze in a steady, deliberate stream. It is hot at first, almost startling in its rush, a searing warmth that beads and spills before the body realises what’s been done. His heart will likely flutter with the sudden alarm of it, trying to thrum faster, harder, to keep up with the loss, and then—insidiously—it'll want to slow, to pull everything inward and conserve.
Charlie keeps her blue eyes fixed on him, adoring and unshaken. Her hand presses the lace into place against the wound, reverent in its efficiency, as the first stains blossom across the fabric. [say]"That’s it,"[/say] she murmurs, tone steady, as if coaxing him through something holy. [say]"Let it come. I’ve got you."[/say] So saying, she'll press one palm against his cheek, encouraging him to tilt his head away from the wound that she might have more access to it, her fingers sweeping little symbols of praise against his olive skin.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Astaroth - 08-27-2025
The fleeting kiss is a bit of a surprise, but it’s a perfect little distraction alongside the hum of her whispered voice. She’s great at this – not that he expected anything less – but to see it so first hand? He knows that he’s picked one of the best people to do this. He can feel the brief whisper of the lace as it’s placed into position, eyes shutting gently as he evens out his breathing, anticipation finding a way to root and worm itself into his chest.
Then he feels the slice of the blade. A stinging, singing pain that sparks a low grunt and his arms tensing. The blade is sharp enough that it hardly snags on skin, such that the majority of the pain is located around the surge of blood that begins to drip in a dark ribbon of burgundy. It rushes and as she lifts the lace to coat it in the blood, he finds himself suddenly feeling slightly lightheaded. A weightlessness that relaxes the tension briefly in his muscles even as his hands curl into fists against his lower back.
Her hand is warm where she coaxes him to tilt his head, something he hesitates with because he’s so focused on regulating his breathing and ensuring he’s still there even as the blood freely pours. But he does twist his head, slowly and sluggishly, his rougher Halovian accent pouring from his lips when he whispers his curses. “[say]Fuck,[/say]” the turn stings more, sending another fresh wave of it down into her hands as his nostrils flare and his breathing starts to pick up as he continues to grow lightheaded.
RE: I've got scars that can't be seen - Charlie - 08-29-2025
The scent hits her first—coppery and thick, rising hot into the air—and Charlie’s blue eyes darken with instinct, a primal spark flickering in their depths. The heat of it, the steady flow, it sings to something wild inside her, and for an instant she aches to bow her head, to press her mouth to the wound and drink until she knows the butcher’s taste. But while restraint is not a virtue she bothers with often, for Asta’s sake she keeps her hunger on a leash, every ounce of her focus pouring into the steadiness of her hands and the care in her touch.
[say]"I know,"[/say] she purrs, her voice low and soothing, the dagger balanced easily in one hand while the other glides along his cheek. Fingertips trace slow, calming strokes over his skin, a tactile comfort meant to anchor him through the dizziness, the sting, the lightheaded lull of blood leaving too quickly. She’s keenly aware of the sharpened danger of his teeth should he snap his jaws, but in this room especially, consequences aren't something Charlie is particularly worried by.
[say]"You’re doing so good,"[/say] she croons, her grin soft as silk while her tail tightens its grip on the lace. It grows heavier by the second, soaked through, each crimson bloom spreading wider until the fabric clings sodden in her hold. [say]"We’re nearly halfway. Just a little longer."[/say] Her tone is coaxing, steady, even as she notes the slowing cadence of his heart, the way it forces each fresh wave to take more effort to come.
Her body leans closer, warm and unyielding behind his head, a constant presence as blood weeps down into the waiting lace, as her tail steadies the holy work. Adoring, determined, she will see him through every last drop they need.