Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
Sure, she could linger down those roads when it came to him – but until there was an issue she could certainly pretend to not care or know what was occurring. He was quiet about it, too, and it was likely that she didn’t even know he had indulged week after week since his arrival. He was resourceful, and quiet, and had followed every single rule that Danta had told him.
“If I may be objective.” He starts to say, returning to massaging the wound before he sits up from the bed and moves, heading toward a small basin in the edge of the room, peeling away his shirt so that he might be able to clean the wound with a rag, giving her time to settle by herself as his back is turned toward her. “You were… What were they called? Ascended, before now, yes? And you chose Dygra for survival.” He pauses, jaw flexing as he presses against the wound and his shoulders sink with a small amount of relief. “I don’t know why you would want to pray to anyone else, considering they didn’t care about your survival once the war ended. But Dygra did. She has always been there for you.” But to each their own, he supposes, even if he thinks it’s a pointless venture.
Perhaps it’s a lesson she will need to find out on her own.
“And besides, maybe you should give it an honest try without the attachments. Blood is quite fun, after all.” He says it so nonchalantly as he presses that rag to his shoulder beneath his shirt that it almost seems like he could be daydreaming about it. “A world with only stability and order becomes dreadful after a time if you don't make some chaos to make it interesting.” And given that they tend to live a bit longer than average, well… What fun is there?
“If I may be objective.” He starts to say, returning to massaging the wound before he sits up from the bed and moves, heading toward a small basin in the edge of the room, peeling away his shirt so that he might be able to clean the wound with a rag, giving her time to settle by herself as his back is turned toward her. “You were… What were they called? Ascended, before now, yes? And you chose Dygra for survival.” He pauses, jaw flexing as he presses against the wound and his shoulders sink with a small amount of relief. “I don’t know why you would want to pray to anyone else, considering they didn’t care about your survival once the war ended. But Dygra did. She has always been there for you.” But to each their own, he supposes, even if he thinks it’s a pointless venture.
Perhaps it’s a lesson she will need to find out on her own.
“And besides, maybe you should give it an honest try without the attachments. Blood is quite fun, after all.” He says it so nonchalantly as he presses that rag to his shoulder beneath his shirt that it almost seems like he could be daydreaming about it. “A world with only stability and order becomes dreadful after a time if you don't make some chaos to make it interesting.” And given that they tend to live a bit longer than average, well… What fun is there?
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
