Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
It’s calm and he isn’t sure entirely how to feel about that. He isn’t sure whether it’s an ego boost or more anxiety inducing to realize that how he’d left, and how long he’d left, that things have simply been on a ruthless balancing act, swinging between too much and not at all. Catching eyes with the bartender at the relief he spies in the loosening of their shoulders, Astaroth drifts further in, past anyone currently being tended to as he seeks out only one person in particular.
One that’s thankfully behind the bar with a page slowly getting torn out. And he’s unnoticed so far, so he shifts the bag to settle on the forearm of his not stitched up arm, adjusting the collar briefly of the new shirt (it’s a fine, dark green one this time), and he slips behind the bar for perhaps one of the first times since being here. “Hello, Danta, darling.” He hums in a quiet greeting, firelight flickering against his skin as his dark eyes take in the Maverick, waiting with baited breath for anything.
A punch, a hug, a get out, a thank the gods you’re home.
One that’s thankfully behind the bar with a page slowly getting torn out. And he’s unnoticed so far, so he shifts the bag to settle on the forearm of his not stitched up arm, adjusting the collar briefly of the new shirt (it’s a fine, dark green one this time), and he slips behind the bar for perhaps one of the first times since being here. “Hello, Danta, darling.” He hums in a quiet greeting, firelight flickering against his skin as his dark eyes take in the Maverick, waiting with baited breath for anything.
A punch, a hug, a get out, a thank the gods you’re home.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
