black licorice

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

It certainly isn’t something he just hands out – so the fact that she preens in such an appropriate response as they work to clean themselves up, Astaroth finds it reflected in his own grin that he beams to her, working away the blood and any other evidence that might cling to his skin. Between the water and her flame, they’re mostly put together – enough that it wouldn’t be suspicious, and with no evidence remaining of the man left behind that wouldn’t vanish before eyes set on it anyway? Well, as far as Astaroth was concerned, it was a perfect crime.

Chuckling to her comment, the butcher picks up the makeshift bag out of his jacket (ruined now, but he can mourn that later), he flashes a grin to her question with a shake of his head. “Not at all, dear, I can do the heavy lifting.” It takes a great deal of work to keep the purr from entering his accented tone, but he manages it well enough. “A flame to keep us warm until we’re within the confines of the Inner Quarter would do wonders, though.” He knows she’s capable of it – she’d done it on their way here after all.

And with her guiding their way back, late enough for no visible eyes, the bloodied pair makes it back to the Dusklight without a single problem.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //