steal a moment of your time

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

Thal downs her glass the moment it's full, quieting as she listens to every damning word that Asta says. How she suggests they exile people for crimes, sending him into a manic episode. Just the thought makes her blood boil, wanting to protect him against the trauma Maea always has a knack of digging into. Her voice is deathly soft, her fangs bared in disgust. "And she calls you cruel?" Everything about her has stilled, the anger simmering beneath the surface, growing hotter with each revelation, especially as he talks about running, about being unable to take at least that small reprieve from her verbal assault. 

She recalls her recent spar with Hadama and her previous spat with Danta over the ramphire, how she'd reacted like a caged animal when beaten down, how she'd been so blinded by fury that she ignored all reasoning. It's why she can't blame Asta for attacking - why she can't believe Maea would be the one to attack someone in that position. And then to go so far as to beat him while claiming to care? Thal hears the glass in her hand crack, the cheap cup near shattering as she pries it from her grasp to set it on the table. She can't bring herself to drink anymore as the rage and disgust bring bile to her throat. 

Her hands press flat on the table, shoving her chair back as she stands, tail lashing like a whip behind her with each piece of information. To hear that Maea wanted him to kill her, that she'd pushed him to the point of running. Grabbing one of her daggers from the tabletop, she slams it into the wood, desperately wishing it could scream or bleed. She wants to tear something apart, possibly even Maea. A low growl rips through her chest, eyes blazing with violence as the fireplace flares. "She calls you a monster, 'apologizes,' then asks you to kill her if she starts becoming like you?!" Thal rips the dagger from the table, throwing it so hard that it imbeds halfway to the hilt on the thick wood by her door. "She would be lucky to be half the person you are!" Maybe it's because she's come to care so much about Asta, or maybe it's because she's struggled with the thoughts herself, or maybe because she thought she knew Maea, but it's hard not to hit something. 

Stalking across the room, Thal pulls her dagger from the wall with a forceful tug, wood cracking beneath, not that she cares. "She's a hypocrite who hates herself so much that she can't bear to see others accepting themselves!" She twirls the blade in a deadly dance over her fingers, pointing between the two of them. "There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with me. She is the one who can't embrace being an Ancient. I doubt she ever will." Thal grinds her teeth as she moves to pacing in front of the table, wanting very much to taste blood, to hear bones snap. "She talks about 'understanding' Dygra and wanting to know her 'purpose' like she's been forced into some cult that she has to suffer being a part of." Spinning to face the door, she throws the dagger again, her body trembling with anger as it thuds into the wall. "It's insulting!" The heat of her fury is so strong that a tendril of smoke filters out from her bared fangs, flames licking at her fingertips. At the same moment, a crack of lightning sounds outside, like a sign of the gods agreeing with her - Dygra agreeing with her.

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“Mhm.” He was a monster of a specific kind, but at least he harbored his own rules and guidelines. Not this… Odd choice of changing opinions and yet somehow still aiming to be the martyr for it. But what the butcher doesn’t expect is how fiery her anger is, that she cares for him enough to be just as upset as Danta had been when he’d dragged it out of him.

So he watches as she goes to stand, tail whipping behind her and listening for the scrape of the chair against the wood, leaning forward to finish off his drink before his dark gaze follows her, the fire reflected in the dark glint of her raven hair. He doesn’t flinch as he slams the dagger down into the wood, but he does stand — because he had been angry too, but it had been seasons since that encounter and he’d had time to compartmentalize it at least a bit. Even if the thought still flared him up occasionally. For now, though, Thalassa harbors it all. Like a vessel of hatred tied to him with the praise that slips her lips that he isn’t even sure he’s fully deserving of, but appreciates all the same.

“Thank you, darling.” He says to ensure he gets it out, before the blade is flying through the air to knock onto the wood before he watches her figure stalk over to it, and this time he follows, listening to each and every word without further interjection until it seems as if she’s done. And honestly? She’s right, there’s nothing to interject aside from the fact that he didn’t think to draw the comparison that it seems as if she’d been forced to be a part of it. “You are right.” He agrees, letting the low hum of his voice warm the room amongst the anger, even as it erupts with a flash of lightning.

“She harbors too much morality, despite endless conversations about how it shifts over time, to believe she should be the judge. And if she does not agree with something, she cannot let it stay. She cannot just ignore it.” Despite the fact that he didn’t advertise the whole cannibal ordeal; she couldn’t live with the idea of him doing it at all. “I have avoided her attempts to make amends because I do not even know what to say to her. I.. admittedly do not know whether I would not just kill her.” Comes the other honest truth.

He reaches out, his hand warm from the fire he extinguishes so as to not ruin her clothes, aiming to ground her somewhat even if the sharp and violent glint to his smile is evident. “I know it is terrible outside, but.. What do you think of going on a quick hunt with me?” To blow off all the anger, to lean into the violence, to be the embodiment of what Dygra stood for. To let it out in actions rather than being cooped up.

And the butcher, when he hunted for his bloodlust, had a very certain kind of ferality and reverence to it. Wild and yet somehow still in utter devotion.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

She can feel Asta's presence through the fury, knows that she's probably being 'too quick to anger,' but she doesn't cool, her breaths seething and hot in the small space. Thal's always felt things too strongly, whether it be anger, or sadness, or loyalty, or hurt - and probably love one day, she feels it with every fiber of her being like it's humming to escape her too-small frame. Even now, her skin threatens to catch fire, to blaze through like a wildfire at the suffering Asta has had to endure, at the hands and words of someone she might have labeled a 'friend.'

It's why she can't blame him for wanting to kill her, for being unable to look past her transgressions, why she's not sure she can look past them. Ripping the blade from the wall again, Thal twists it through her fingers, a low, humorless laugh punctuating the sharp flash of her fangs. "It sounds like she wants to die anyways. You might be putting her out of her misery, so she doesn't have to be an Ancient anymore." Thal spits the word like a curse, flipping the dagger quickly in the air before burying it in the wall again. She can't decide whether that would be too merciful a death, whether Maea should be forced to suffer the knowledge of her existence. 

The warm hand on her shoulder stills her stalking enough for a hint of clarity to peek through the red of her vision. The idea strikes that she hasn't satiated her bloodlust since their hunt all those weeks ago, having been distracted by other endeavors, and interrupted at her last attempt with Maea - not that she needs an excuse to tear into something right now. Her violently malicious grin says enough as she looks up at the Butcher. "That sounds like a fantastic idea." In a matter of seconds, she is armed to the teeth, her collection of daggers glinting across her body like scales of deadly armor waiting to be coated in blood. She doesn't reach for her cloak as she steps outside, wanting to feel the rain sizzle across her skin, to cool her rage into something she can hone, something predatory. She also doesn't shift, wanting desperately to feel every drop of blood against her skin, to rip through it with daggers, fangs, and nails, to feel the heartbeat stop against her fingertips.

Once Asta appears beside her, Thal moves towards the woods, all shadows and crackling fury, a wraith on the hunt, wishing for a fight.

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

Too quick to anger wasn’t really a problem the butcher sees. He, too, has his moments, and with them comes the imminent need for violence just as she does. They are one in the same, two sides of a coin that Asta shouldn’t find as relieving as he does, but he does. And so when she makes her suggestion, the butchers low chuckle is as dark as it is amused, because he’s certainly thought of the same thing too. “That is another reason. Perhaps it is better to let her stew over it.” All of this after her actions at the leadership event where she’d put so many in danger. He still remembers the way his teeth got set on edge when Danta had told him, to think that the Maverick had been placed in such a position.

“She has been barred from the Inner Quarter, if I recall correctly. For that, amongst other reasons.” He adds, in case she wasn’t aware, but at least Asta had the comfort of knowing if he wandered around the most inner portion of the Grounds he wouldn’t be forced to be confronted with her. Not as he once had.

He reaches out for her, then, his hand warm and his smile promising violence mirroring her own when she looks up at him. Releasing her so that she might prepare, he’s already ready. The cane by his side and the hidden dagger on his person. That, and his teeth. But he does take a moment to shed out of the overcoat, leaving himself in the waistcoat and other finery that he assumes would be easier to clean or get new ones of if worse came to worse.

Stepping up beside her with the threaded cane in hand, they drift out toward the woods, water dripping onto him and through his hair, soaking through his shirt though he doesn’t mind, not with the promise of satisfying the bloodlust on his mind. She is a wraith of shadows and fire, and the butcher joins her. Melting into the dark hues of shadows, lit up only occasionally by the occasional but frequent strike of lightning. Thunder cracks overhead, and while some of the creatures have hunkered down for the night, something catches his attention. Movement on the edge of an outcrop, a log that has moved slightly until it spots their approach.

“There.” Comes the whisper, dark eyes glancing over toward Thalassa before he starts the show. It’s an allogator and what he knows of them is that they typically lie in wait until one is close enough. Gesturing for her to remain hidden, but close enough on his heels, he approaches it — cane outstretched as if he were no more than a drunken wanderer, searching for a quiet place of respite.

And at the last second, the cane bumps the side of the ‘log’, only to have it whip around with its jaws parting, aiming to snag and crush his bones. He evades it easily with a loud bark of a laugh, but as it spins it opens up its side for Thalassa’s own assault while the butcher essentially does nothing more but play with their food.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

Unwilling to think on what exactly she plans to do when she sees Maea again, Thal gives a resigned nod of her head, one that's too stiff to be 'accepting' of the decision. It's the other piece of information that makes her scoff, her head shaking again with disbelief. "That explains her moving." So, 'differing opinions' hadn't been the only reason. Another intentional exclusion of information that grates against her trust. 

She'd been such a fool. 

It adds a personal element to her rage, something almost pained in the feeling, like it might hurt if she thinks too long on it, but she's given Maea too much control over her heart one too many times, and she sinks into the fury like a comforting embrace, letting it wrap around her heart and take root as she steps into the forest. 

The towering trees and flashes of lightning nearly compare to the insurmountable cresting of her anger, the too-big feeling begging to crack through her and shatter into the night sky in a flash of light. However, she tightens her hold on it, her eyes scanning for any unfortunate creatures who haven't yet sensed the pair of walking chaos that stalk in their midst. Asta may spot it first, but Thal doesn't miss it either, melting into the shadow of the larger Ancient's form, her eyes glowing in the darkness as she watches his approach. 

'Patience' isn't really something Thal is known for, and her tail flicks in a sharp dance behind her while she crouches in wait, following closely. Every muscle of her body is poised for a kill, eager to spill blood, to taste it on her tongue. Even the beat of her heart slows, like it might stretch the moment, the tantalizing anticipation. It makes her vision narrow dangerously onto the image of Asta before her, on the creature he's toying with. 

When the allogator finally thinks it has an easy meal in the Butcher and strikes out, Thal springs forward. She spins down its length, her dagger digging into its exposed side in a pleasant tug of hide and muscle, the warmth of blood coating her hand. It's not deep enough to kill, just enough to piss the creature off; but it doesn't have time to turn to her before she's at its tail, stabbing a dagger through the appendage and into the soft soil of the forest. Thal knows it won't hold for long, but that's not the point, and she lets out a laugh of delight for the suffering, the helplessness it will feel in the next few moments.

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

It did explain her moving – but Asta doesn’t have anything else to say on that matter – at least for the time. Right now, focused as he is on the electricity that sparks in the air, charging each and every decision as they make their way out amongst the rain and storm, it’s a boon that reflects from Thalassa that despite her anger, despite her sharpness, she did not need to be aimless in it.

And lets be honest, the butcher would never turn down a hunt.

The air charges further as Astaroth pinpoints the allogator, making it into quite the show – as if Thalassa and he are dancers and the allogator is nothing more than an actor amongst their show. He spins when it strikes, and when it strikes Thalassa takes her move – plunging her blades beautifully into the soft side of the allogator as it growls and hisses its pain and anger. And for the butcher? It’s a beautiful game – because now as Thal strikes that blade into its tail, she’s done enough damage to really piss it off.

Which means it’s Astaroth’s turn for the dance. The allogator’s tail slashes, breaking it free from the blade that tried to pin it as hot dark blood spills across the ground, intermixing with rain to water it down, and it begins to whirl on her. Prepared for it as he is, though, Astaroth’s threaded cane comes down precisely on its maw as it snaps at her, with enough force to push it down and leave it twisted in an odd “S” shape. It’s one that doesn’t last long, either, because the butcher’s laugh of dark delight dances with Thalassa’s own as the thunder rumbles once again overhead and he plunges his dagger into the soft space at the neck of the beast, carving quite a deep slice as it thrashes.

He isn’t personally aiming for the kill, imagining that his friend could use it more, and so he’s quite content to toy and play until Thalassa’s satisfied. But he will piss it off enough to give her the chance to play more, even as the blood spills across his knuckles and arms, drenching them in a fresh ruby coat.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

It's always great to see Asta in action, and as the allogator rips free of her dagger to lunge for her, she just laughs in its face, even granting it a cruel wave of her dagger as its jaw is crushed into an unhealthy shape. If it were to make it out of this interaction, Thal doesn't think it'd survive long anyways, unable to eat or drink through the mutilated form. Maybe that makes its death a mercy - not that the thought crosses her mind as she moves to flip the thing onto its back. The allogator writhes beneath the Butcher's weapon, blood splattering through the rain as Thal pins it with her hips, catching a flailing leg in her tight grasp. 

With a vicious smile on her face, she slices through tissue, sinew, and eventually bone, nearly severing the leg from the allogator in a spray of dark blood that coats her from horn tip to tail - but it still hangs on by a string of tendon. It's a gruesome enough sight to churn stomachs less excited than Thal's, internal structures grinded and dangling on full display. Her hand wraps around the stringy structure, fangs bared in effort as she tugs, feeling more than hearing the rip that speaks of tearing tendons that give beneath the force. It finally releases with a deep growl of satisfaction, the creature letting out a screaming keen of pain while she throws the amputated limb off to the side, the coppery scent of blood filling her heart to soothe the rage boiling within. Her bloodlust can't wait another moment, singing through every fiber of her being as she leans forward like a reverent lover towards her prey's throat. But rather than a seductive kiss, she sinks her fangs into its jugular, feeling the racing pulse against her lips as she lingers there, soaking in the sensation. Then she bites hard, muscle and artery slicing easily as lifeblood gushes around her mouth in a broken floodgate of pressure. 

Thal lets out a growling purr of delight, drinking in the first few beats of death while the allogator twitches beneath her. For just a second, her eyes flutter closed, the satisfaction pushing aside fury and rage until all she feels are her senses - the taste of blood, the scent of rain and carnage, the sticky blood between her fingers, the flash of lightning behind her eyelids, the sound of her breaths slowing. Then it passes, thoughts sluggishly returning as she releases her hold on the dead throat. 

She rolls to stand from the limp figure, enjoying the suffering for a moment longer before looking to Asta. Her hair is ink splashed against her features, only the hint of a red sheen in the starlight, nearly glowing with the flash of lightning. Rain runs streaks through the blood on her skin as she lifts a dagger to her tongue, relishing the taste like she might sense the notes of pain amongst the copper, a wicked glint in her eyes.

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

Astaroth fully doesn’t intend on the allogator living through this hunt, and it’s evident as he opens it up for Thal’s next assault — chuckling darkly with delight as she pins it and tears through its leg, relishing in the destruction she’s wrought. While she’s busy indulging herself and ending the poor creature’s life, the butcher has already sliced off a portion of its hide, dug beneath it to carve out bloody strips, and simply relaxed as she seems fully focused on its jugular.

Uncaring temporarily about his clothes, the butcher has settled at its side opposite of Thalassa, leaning back to where his spine presses against the marred side of the allogator as it takes its last few breaths, all while he takes his easy bites of the flesh, sharp teeth slicing through it without a single issue.

Lightning continues as she stands and the butcher leans back against the allogator’s form in a self indulgent stretch, back arching as the crown of his antlers from this angle pierce and scratch against the creature’s hide, tilting his head back enough to let his dark gaze focus on her as he offers her a bloody and sharp smile.

“Are you feeling better, darling?” He asks, completely at ease and comfortable despite the cool rain as he bends back toward her against the corpse of the gator.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

Thal returns his smile, the high of the hunt slowly melting off with the rain. She licks the blood from her lips, dragging her fangs over them for good measure before she rolls her shoulders, her eyes no longer the bright blue of a searing flame but the soft crashing of waves after a storm. "Much. You?" Not that he'd been nearly as blinded with rage as she was, but a good hunt could still help. 

Unbothered by the layer of blood coating every inch of her, Thal moves to join Asta, propping gracefully on the allogater's stomach like it's a plush throne instead of a creature she just tore to shreds. Her legs cross casually as she slices a strip of meat from its side, finally sheathing her bloody dagger. She sinks her fangs into the muscle for something to snack on after her substantial meal, content to bask in the chaos they'd caused. 

Thal leans back on her hand, glancing curiously to Asta. Between bites, she asks, "What does human taste like?" There's no beating around the bush, but the question is delivered with more tact than she might have given others, an open invitation to shut her up clearly on her face. She's aware that he may not want to talk to her about the habit that had caused him so much trouble, yet she's curious - about him, about cannibalism - and there's no judgement in her tone to indicate otherwise.

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“I am doing quite well.” He confirms, though something in his tone suggests that he’s quite pleased with the way that satisfying her bloodlust helped the blinding rage. He’d had plenty of seasons to get through it himself, which allows for it to remain as nothing much more than just the even simmer and general distaste when the Ancient’s name came up.

So, he remains relaxed against the corpse of the allogator, shifting only to give Thalassa room to join him, uncaring of the rain that drenches them, even as it begins to slow its heavy drops from the sky. He slices another piece from the creature, sharp teeth slicing completely through it as they enjoy their meal.

Her question does take him by surprise, though, evident in the way his dark gaze made black in the low light of the night snaps to her. “Admittedly, it varies.” He hums, snorting softly and surprised at having this conversation, though not worried or stressed about it. “Ancients are my least favorite. Too.. earthy. Leaves traces of stone and clay behind which, ack.” He begins, chuckling lightly as he waves a bloody hand. “Attuneds are my favorite. Perhaps it’s the animals they can shift into, but it is almost sweet? Similar to veal, if I had to guess.” Another pause as he considers it. “Accepted and Acquired — Abandoned, as you likely know them, taste much the same. Not as sweet or earthy but quite savory.” He takes another bite of the allogator, mulling it over as he considers a few more things.

“I have not had many fresh encounters as of late, though. A promise to Danta that I would be good, you see, so I have a deal with the Infirmary. It is rare that I get to be picky.” And while it wasn’t perfect nor consistent, it sated him enough to keep the worse urges at bay.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

Taking another bite of the allogator, she's grateful Asta doesn't shut her question down, if only to satisfy her hunger for information. Thal listens closely, trying to imagine what each might taste like - although still not wholly inclined to try it herself. When he finishes, she tilts her head back to look up at the falling rain as she says, "I guess that makes sense. I'm surprised Abandoned don't taste different though - with the magic running through their veins and all." She doesn't know what that would taste like, maybe spicy? Or sour? 

Thal turns her gaze back to Asta. "Have you ever tried demigod?" She doubts it, having felt very clearly how strong they can be as Hadama flattened her; however, it makes her wonder about the other races, especially one so closely related to the gods. Or would that piss off the gods?

In the midst of her other musings, another thought comes to mind, feeling oddly personal despite not really caring. She takes a casual bite of the meat as she asks, "What about a Mer?" Would they taste salty like the sea? Perhaps like fish?

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

Snorting and inclining his head as water drips along his face, smearing some of the blood in the appearance of tear stains, the butcher looks back to Thalassa curiously. “I thought they might as well. And truthfully, perhaps they do and I simply do not know what magic tastes like?” His smile softens into a huff of a laugh at the idea, rolling his eyes slightly as he sinks back further and finishes off the strip.

As for demigod? The butcher’s head lolls against the side of the allogator, his dark hair like a wet paintbrush as it splays across its bloody and wet hide. “I have never tried it. Though I have thought about it.” And what he wouldn’t give to take a bite out of a certain water themed demigod.

But that’s beside the point as Thalassa’s and his gaze meet and there’s amusement and understanding amongst the hint of gratitude for her not shying away, even as she asks her indulgent question. “I have never had a Mer, either, but I would imagine it is salty and fleshy, yes? Perhaps like a salmon might be, or a tuna.” Reaching out with his pointy elbow, he nudges her playfully before he snickers to himself, curious how she might take to being referred to similarly to a tuna once upon a time.

“Do you recall what you could shift into?” He asks curiously, watching her face and the way blood mixed with water drips from her own raven dark hair.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

As he speaks, she folds one leg up, hooking her arm around it as she leans forward, still wondering what magic might taste like. If Asta hasn't spotted the difference, she doubts she'll ever know, although it doesn't make the mystery any less intriguing, along with the unknown of a demigod. "You'll have to tell me if you ever find out." As casually as if they were reviewing pie flavors. 

On the topic of Mers, she feels a weird sense of relief, even as she doesn't care, sure that she'd taste the same as any other Ancient. Asta's nudge and playful tease don't scrape against the insecurities, a hypothetical that has nothing to do with her capabilities or possible weaknesses beyond having possibly tasted like tuna at one point. Still, Thal throws him the middle finger, trying to hide her amusement in another bite of allogator. 

It's not hard to do when she hears his next question, pausing to blink water from her dark lashes. "No idea." She takes a deep breath, willing to say a little more with a full stomach, in the wake of Asta's own confessions. "I only know what little I do because my 'mother' told me about the events that led up to everything." Her hands come up in quotations at the word, still not willing to officially associate with the mermaid and everything it means, what it means if everything she says is true. Shrugging her shoulders, Thal adds, "I haven't sought her out since." Whether it's an avoidance of her past or an intentional division between the two is hard to tell. Whatever the reason, Thal hasn't made any contact with Athena.

Thalassa

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“I shall.” He murmurs softly, playfully, surprisingly content and excited with the idea of sharing a bit more of his secretive side with her. So much so that his own mood seems to improve, relaxed as he is and absolutely a mess between the blood and rain without a single ounce of care for the blood splattered on his face and drenching his beard in iron.

Barking a laugh at the middle finger she tosses up his way, it’s an affectionate roll of his eyes that softens as he returns to his carefree lounge, tail flicking idly beside his leg while he asks his question. Watching her reaction carefully, it’s another one of those you can tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to talk about it, which seems to be the game of the day. Not that he’s complaining. He likes her. Having her as his friend more and more as the seasons pass only seem like an improvement to his life, so he’s happy to share what he can and he’s grateful for her own indulgences to his curiosity in return.

Summoning a small ball of flame to keep them warm, he lets the orb of it hover in front of them, the rogue drops of rain hiss as it hits the orb but begins to warm the space they share. “Do you believe her? Or only partially?” He asks softly, no judgement in his tone as his dark eyes watch her face. He imagines she does to an extent, but how far that went was entirely within her mind.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart