the streets are all violent with murderous excitement
Astaroth goes hard. Harder than he probably should, to be honest, given the fingers that are in his mouth that certainly don’t belong to the sailors anymore. It’s not his problem, seeing as he did give fair and clear warning.
At least this warning was heeded, and the panic through the group only serves to make Asta thrive more, ready to launch again the second that he has his opening —
”I think perhaps they have had enough” — cuts through his haze, and just as he told Dantalion he would, the fyrhund stays. Teeth tight in that snarl, an attack dog told to heel. The group vanishes as quickly as they destroyed the place, and Asta at least has a few souvenirs from it.
He watches them go, before he shifts into himself, collecting the three fingers he’d collected, a speck of blood at his collar that has him sighing as he sees his reflection in the mirror. He notices the space Danta has set up with his things and he moves to sit, setting down his trinkets, before collecting a napkin and dabbing at the blood spot, sleeves rolling up even higher now and revealing the very ends of scars that seem to go up his arms and shoulders. “I doubt they will be returning.” He comments, his free hand lifting one of the fingers and waggling it with an amused smirk.
At least this warning was heeded, and the panic through the group only serves to make Asta thrive more, ready to launch again the second that he has his opening —
”I think perhaps they have had enough” — cuts through his haze, and just as he told Dantalion he would, the fyrhund stays. Teeth tight in that snarl, an attack dog told to heel. The group vanishes as quickly as they destroyed the place, and Asta at least has a few souvenirs from it.
He watches them go, before he shifts into himself, collecting the three fingers he’d collected, a speck of blood at his collar that has him sighing as he sees his reflection in the mirror. He notices the space Danta has set up with his things and he moves to sit, setting down his trinkets, before collecting a napkin and dabbing at the blood spot, sleeves rolling up even higher now and revealing the very ends of scars that seem to go up his arms and shoulders. “I doubt they will be returning.” He comments, his free hand lifting one of the fingers and waggling it with an amused smirk.
Astaroth
the hunter and the prey are dancing every day
