Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Asta chuckles with Maea’s surmise of everyone else’s opinions outside of the Grounds, and he inclines his head as he guides them back toward his room, thoughts mulling about in his head. “Danta is a bit like… A pistachio, I suppose. Hard on the outside with a sliver of the inside viewable.” It’s an odd comment, even as he says it, to compare the Maverick to a nut of all things, but here they are. “People tend to show they care in a variety of ways. He’s been taking great care of us, has he not?” Flashing her a grin over his shoulder as he slips out of his shirt, before the rest of their conversation shifts toward lilies to cure rare diseases.
As such, Asta’s tongue clicks as he sifts through the myriad of silk shirts, deciding to settle on a dark green one this time, at odds with the reds he typically wore. It mattered little though, as it covers the scars and he rolls the sleeves up, buttoning it and tucking the shirt tail into his pants, he promptly looks like the perfect gentleman once more – at least, mostly. “It’s certainly worth a shot, I would think.” He agrees.
Sidling up beside Maea in front of the fire, he plucks a comb from the top of the mantle – and given his height, peers into the small mirror placed there, combing the dark locks back to keep them in place and make himself look like he’d not just been sparring in the snow, he casts a sharp grin down toward her. “I think you bruised my chest.” He says with a chuckle of teasing.
As such, Asta’s tongue clicks as he sifts through the myriad of silk shirts, deciding to settle on a dark green one this time, at odds with the reds he typically wore. It mattered little though, as it covers the scars and he rolls the sleeves up, buttoning it and tucking the shirt tail into his pants, he promptly looks like the perfect gentleman once more – at least, mostly. “It’s certainly worth a shot, I would think.” He agrees.
Sidling up beside Maea in front of the fire, he plucks a comb from the top of the mantle – and given his height, peers into the small mirror placed there, combing the dark locks back to keep them in place and make himself look like he’d not just been sparring in the snow, he casts a sharp grin down toward her. “I think you bruised my chest.” He says with a chuckle of teasing.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
