Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
“The rules I make and enforce are that of safety. Not comfort.” Astaroth clarifies — and while the two did cross over on occasion, he’s certain that she’s only uncomfortable because she’s seen behind the curtain. Who’s to say any other region was better? “The two can overlap, of course, but in an effort of keeping people safe, there is always an uncomfortable choice to make.” Already the tension locks into his shoulders, annoyance flaring that he hides by plucking a broken piece of a stool, half of the spokes broken off and in a variety of pieces, waterlogged, that he adds to the burn pile before snagging another piece of wood that could be salvaged, added to the recycle pile.
She goes on another tangent and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he needs to stop everything he’s done to keep people safe for one person’s comfort when without him it would be left up to the townsfolk that would likely commit worse crimes, and it has a tight set to his jaw as he continues to avoid looking at her. “I am saying you should get better coping mechanisms.” He answers with a sigh. “But fine, I shall indulge you for a moment. What is it, exactly, you would have me do, so you can sleep better at night?” He can’t help the bite in his tone, the way his sharp teeth click with each enunciation. He stares at the burn pile, at the fire that rages within it in the effort of tempering his own internal fire.
She goes on another tangent and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he needs to stop everything he’s done to keep people safe for one person’s comfort when without him it would be left up to the townsfolk that would likely commit worse crimes, and it has a tight set to his jaw as he continues to avoid looking at her. “I am saying you should get better coping mechanisms.” He answers with a sigh. “But fine, I shall indulge you for a moment. What is it, exactly, you would have me do, so you can sleep better at night?” He can’t help the bite in his tone, the way his sharp teeth click with each enunciation. He stares at the burn pile, at the fire that rages within it in the effort of tempering his own internal fire.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
