// with our one foot in the grave //
He’s content to keep taking bites and offer little bits and pieces about what it’s like being a rock slider, when initially she speaks of her molten tiger shift — one the Butcher also harbored in a previous life, one with dark stripes and an almost Damascus kind of dripping metal, before his nose wrinkles as she starts to talk about the social friendliness of gore crows.
Now, she could be completely right, and objectively he does know how the saying goes about crows, but to him they’re nothing more than ruthless, cunning, conniving beasts that he’s pretty sure he could live for another fifty years and never seen one and it would still be too soon. “They are also conniving and like to play with their food.” Asta comments, nose still wrinkled and decidedly not finishing the cube of meat in his fingers.
He snaps out of it at her next question, shrugging a shoulder in his uncertainty. “Perhaps. I did retain my fyrhund and I believe I can feel my lial shift returning.” Two of his favorites, thankfully.
Now, she could be completely right, and objectively he does know how the saying goes about crows, but to him they’re nothing more than ruthless, cunning, conniving beasts that he’s pretty sure he could live for another fifty years and never seen one and it would still be too soon. “They are also conniving and like to play with their food.” Asta comments, nose still wrinkled and decidedly not finishing the cube of meat in his fingers.
He snaps out of it at her next question, shrugging a shoulder in his uncertainty. “Perhaps. I did retain my fyrhund and I believe I can feel my lial shift returning.” Two of his favorites, thankfully.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
