Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
The Butcher is late.
Later than he was supposed to be coming home. And with no letter sent and his own anxieties eating away at him, having promised Danta that he’d return the following day after getting better thanks to the Remedy’s help, well… He’d taken that day to collect gifts, to have a nice little tea party with Isla on the bone beach, and effectively do his damnedest to clear his head.
It had taken that entire day, not that he’s complaining, but gods if the sinking pit of stress doesn’t yawn open the second that he steps into the warmth of the Last Whisper, a trek aimed directly for home. It’s a new shirt he wears, given that the other one had to be cut off, and the stitches are quite visible as he opens the door to the Dusklight, having shed his coat already in expectation, stuffing it into the bag he brings along with.
The heady warmth of the Dusklight should soothe him – and it does to an extent, but with no cane to announce his arrival it’s his tall stature and the shadow he casts as he shuts the door behind him and glances around the tables first, as if wholly expecting Danta to be indulging amongst better company than he had been as of late.
Later than he was supposed to be coming home. And with no letter sent and his own anxieties eating away at him, having promised Danta that he’d return the following day after getting better thanks to the Remedy’s help, well… He’d taken that day to collect gifts, to have a nice little tea party with Isla on the bone beach, and effectively do his damnedest to clear his head.
It had taken that entire day, not that he’s complaining, but gods if the sinking pit of stress doesn’t yawn open the second that he steps into the warmth of the Last Whisper, a trek aimed directly for home. It’s a new shirt he wears, given that the other one had to be cut off, and the stitches are quite visible as he opens the door to the Dusklight, having shed his coat already in expectation, stuffing it into the bag he brings along with.
The heady warmth of the Dusklight should soothe him – and it does to an extent, but with no cane to announce his arrival it’s his tall stature and the shadow he casts as he shuts the door behind him and glances around the tables first, as if wholly expecting Danta to be indulging amongst better company than he had been as of late.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
