concealed by your slight of hand

// up above so, up above so quiet //

“It’s in the fine print, my dear.” He assures him with a wink, letting the warmth of the alcohol soothe him as he wrestles away the sentimentality and worry that has coated him for the past few hours. Instead, he focuses on the topic at hand – of asking the Harpy rather than assuming, which something tells him that the fiery young woman would have no issue with doing such a task. But, it was polite to ask, and Asta is here to offer nothing but gentlemanly guidance for such things. “You can try, but if I recall the last time you did that I took you with me.” Bouncing a brow of amusement, the bartender returns with another drink right when the box is arriving.

Snorting, Astaroth waves a hand and rolls his eyes. “I would be such a bore to marry. I happen to have quite a strict schedule and I have rules.” The sarcasm drips from his lips with all the amusement he can muster, even if he’s infinitely far more interested in the Maverick opening the gift rather than whatever commentary occurs before hand.

And once the other man does, he’ll spot a porcelain dish, adorned with a skeletal hand carefully held into place for rings and earrings to adorn each and every inch of it. And while to an untrained eye, it would look like a perfectly sculpted clay statue, Danta would know and understand it is exactly made out of what it looked like. Meanwhile, the Butcher says nothing, he simply sips from his drink and watches in quiet delight.

Astaroth

// down below so, down below so violent //