you made your choice
“Wonderful.” He hums with every second of gratitude for her help with it – content that the bone deep pain would no longer remain. Not that it had been too bad to deal with for him, but it had been enough to make him feel stiff and sore, an ache that made it difficult to sleep if he accidentally ended up laying on it.
But he talks of the Climb and gore crows, and he can tell there’s some amount of intrigue, even as she apologizes and he offers a wave of his hand to shake his head. “Don’t be. It was my own fault.” He hums, offering a gentle smile to ensure she knows he means it. “Though, perhaps if you harbor a gore crow shift, ensure I’m nowhere to be found if you use it.” Far easier to joke about traumas than it was to endure it, Astaroth’s sharp grin returns as she nears him to dress the wound, bandaging it up. And when she’s finished, he feels like a new man, with a slow craving growing in his stomach.
Ignoring it for the moment, he makes to slip off the chair, drawing to his full height with a sigh of relief, he steps over toward his items and collects the bag, before returning and standing in front of her to hand it out to her. “A token of thanks, for being a wonderful medic.” He inclines his head and waits for her to open it.
It’s a bit of a throw back from when they’d met – a gift collected in the shop that she’d been debating a dress that she eventually bought. And within it, another dress that he thinks she might appreciate – an airy thing, of pale white and seafoam green, soft and delicate and stunning in ways that he thinks might bring out the blue of her gaze from the gold of her hair.
But he talks of the Climb and gore crows, and he can tell there’s some amount of intrigue, even as she apologizes and he offers a wave of his hand to shake his head. “Don’t be. It was my own fault.” He hums, offering a gentle smile to ensure she knows he means it. “Though, perhaps if you harbor a gore crow shift, ensure I’m nowhere to be found if you use it.” Far easier to joke about traumas than it was to endure it, Astaroth’s sharp grin returns as she nears him to dress the wound, bandaging it up. And when she’s finished, he feels like a new man, with a slow craving growing in his stomach.
Ignoring it for the moment, he makes to slip off the chair, drawing to his full height with a sigh of relief, he steps over toward his items and collects the bag, before returning and standing in front of her to hand it out to her. “A token of thanks, for being a wonderful medic.” He inclines his head and waits for her to open it.
It’s a bit of a throw back from when they’d met – a gift collected in the shop that she’d been debating a dress that she eventually bought. And within it, another dress that he thinks she might appreciate – an airy thing, of pale white and seafoam green, soft and delicate and stunning in ways that he thinks might bring out the blue of her gaze from the gold of her hair.
Astaroth
do you regret it yet?
