who told you what was down here

// with our one foot in the grave //

Pinned in place by her hand that grips onto his, Astaroth sinks a bit lower into her space to allow her to cling to him for however long she needed – all while his gaze calculates the rock slider and the memories of the life he’d lived amongst these very caverns. The parties held, carving into the oil sheen pelt, the feasts of them in addition to the temptations he harbors. A bit of variety for those that wished to have it.

It's his distraction as she carves into her flesh to heal herself, and once it works and she can move he remains half crouched, dark gaze sliding over to her at her apology, a dark brow lifting. “Thank you for the apology.” He says at first, before he nods to her follow up question. “Take what you require first,” because he wasn’t about to try and ruin whatever part of the pelt she needed, and once she has he takes the knife he’d handed her and with utmost precision, he starts to carve into the flesh.

Caring little for the speck of blood on his cheek as it pours out along his non dominant hand, Astaroth begins to carve out pieces of the flesh around its quite long rib cage, splitting up the difference for her to have some should she wish to. “You know, I used to have a rock slider shift.” He offers her with a casual shrug, plopping a cube sized bite of it into his mouth.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //