// with our one foot in the grave //
The anger and tension are palpable in the air and the way Danta’s jaw clenches, and Astaroth’s own jaw tightens a fraction, lips forming a tight line. He sighs, admittedly in an amount of grumpy relief to feel Danta’s face press on against his dark, sleep tousled hair. His arm tightens and the butcher leans in harder even if it causes him pain, to try and offer some extra amount of comfort to the rage building. Like he can be a blanket to snuff out the fire of anger.
“What do you want to do?” He asks, clearly at a loss for himself if strength isn’t it. Yes, he said he’d kill her, but the second she gave her permission for it he was less inclined. That was something that made it feel as if he was doing her a favor, and the rage within him certainly wouldn’t allow that.
He presses in a little harder, trying to set his empty mug beside Danta’s and effectively blankets the Maverick, utilizing the extra boon to sit himself up a little with a hiss, trying to catch his blue gaze.
“What do you want to do?” He asks, clearly at a loss for himself if strength isn’t it. Yes, he said he’d kill her, but the second she gave her permission for it he was less inclined. That was something that made it feel as if he was doing her a favor, and the rage within him certainly wouldn’t allow that.
He presses in a little harder, trying to set his empty mug beside Danta’s and effectively blankets the Maverick, utilizing the extra boon to sit himself up a little with a hiss, trying to catch his blue gaze.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
