the streets are all violent with murderous excitement
“As much as I was used to the snow in my youth, I do not miss it.” Astaroth says, snow crunching beneath his boot as he takes a step after slipping on the brand new coat – still dark red, but with a brilliant dark grey and black streaked fur lined collar that puffs around his neck and out by his gloved hands. The cane is still a staple, needed a bit more so now with the snow the way that it is and the way he seems to glare at it every chance he gets.
It's worse now because of being an Ancient. But at least he seems a bit more put together than the Maverick at his side, dressed in a multitude of scarves and a good pair of gloves, as if it does much to keep the rest of him warm. So, Asta, being the gentleman he is, drapes another purchase made around his shoulders – a fur lined boa of sorts, before they start to step down the street back toward the bonfire. “Are you warm enough?” He asks, tilting his head toward the blonde as a snowball immediately zings toward them, missing them by a wide margin, before the next nails Astaroth right in the side with a thump.
It's worse now because of being an Ancient. But at least he seems a bit more put together than the Maverick at his side, dressed in a multitude of scarves and a good pair of gloves, as if it does much to keep the rest of him warm. So, Asta, being the gentleman he is, drapes another purchase made around his shoulders – a fur lined boa of sorts, before they start to step down the street back toward the bonfire. “Are you warm enough?” He asks, tilting his head toward the blonde as a snowball immediately zings toward them, missing them by a wide margin, before the next nails Astaroth right in the side with a thump.
Astaroth
the hunter and the prey are dancing every day
