the streets are all violent with murderous excitement
A noncommittal hum leaves Astaroth at Dantalion’s little chastising, at least until the agreement is accepted and a laugh leaves the Ancient, an incline of his head as his grin remains practically glued to his face. “I’m adept at cleaning up after myself.” It’s punctuated with the way he straightens his posture, fixes a slight wrinkle in his sleeve, his clothes impeccably clean from blood.
Following the Maverick’s gaze toward the Last Whisper, Asta’s head tilts slightly. “Do you have to even ask? I would love nothing more.” He admits, and the gleam in his eye proves that he does want something to sink his teeth into. If not physically, then emotionally. A fight sounded like the perfect place to start that.
He playfully bows toward Danta to take the lead, his taller shadow following behind the Maverick with the clink of his cane and sharp toothed grin.
Following the Maverick’s gaze toward the Last Whisper, Asta’s head tilts slightly. “Do you have to even ask? I would love nothing more.” He admits, and the gleam in his eye proves that he does want something to sink his teeth into. If not physically, then emotionally. A fight sounded like the perfect place to start that.
He playfully bows toward Danta to take the lead, his taller shadow following behind the Maverick with the clink of his cane and sharp toothed grin.
Astaroth
the hunter and the prey are dancing every day
