tell me what you need

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

“It typically does.” He agrees with a soft edge of weariness, Nostalgia did not come too often to the butcher, at least not until he had come across more Halovian things as of late. A specific Ancient from a newer sect of Whitebrim had sparked the feeling as well, though he’s too drunk to talk about that whole ordeal as well. Instead, the butcher shifts to cork the bottle, right on the heels of Danta’s agreement.

He stands after a moment and realizes the world spins quite quickly for him, allocating for a slight death grip on the table before he rummages for the cane, sure that he will need it to steady himself. Astaroth is slow going behind Danta, a bit wobbly but more watchful than anything of how the Maverick interacts with those around, ensuring that everything is fine even if he doesn’t use those particular words.

And thankfully they end up back at the room after some struggle of getting up the stairs. The glass and wine are cleaned up from earlier, the shattered hand put in a bowl to be reassembled, and Astaroth immediately swoops in like a shadow to sit on Danta’s bed for the stability of it, leaving the cane off to the side and immediately loosening the top few buttons of his shirt. “It looks like they got all the pieces.” He comments quietly, looking at the wreckage on the side table.

Astaroth

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