// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //
The initial comment doesn’t really help, but he isn’t wrong either. It’s a statement that has him huffing out a little sound of agreement, even if nowadays he hates that it’s true. Once again transported back to that time that they’d both been puppets, attack dogs, pinned against one another again and again. This time, though, in lieu of everything, Danta’s the one protecting him, and it sparks other confusing feelings that thankfully begin to overtake the one from his nightmares, smoothing out his heartbeat fraction by fraction.
“Yeah.” Astaroth says, his accented tone far more Whitebrim than it had been in the Climb. He wants to say how tough it is, how he wants it to go away and not be that hairpin trigger that sets him off, how he’d hoped that by doing it he might one day be able to handle any crows and potentially any gore crows in his vicinity. He also hates the hardened, ridged scars on his body that remind him of it day after day. “I want to get over it. I don’t want to be like this.” Comes the quiet admission, hand squeezing Danta’s as if to punctuate the point.
“Yeah.” Astaroth says, his accented tone far more Whitebrim than it had been in the Climb. He wants to say how tough it is, how he wants it to go away and not be that hairpin trigger that sets him off, how he’d hoped that by doing it he might one day be able to handle any crows and potentially any gore crows in his vicinity. He also hates the hardened, ridged scars on his body that remind him of it day after day. “I want to get over it. I don’t want to be like this.” Comes the quiet admission, hand squeezing Danta’s as if to punctuate the point.
Astaroth
// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //
