// with our one foot in the grave //
Watching as the flame disperses from the Maverick’s lips, the butcher’s own twists into a small smirk especially as the blonde gets closer, however temporary it might be. “Look at you now. You have survived two.” Astaroth rumbles lightly, sinking into the hot water even more as he watches Danta slip his clothes back on. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the number of favors owed to him from a variety of others back in the day, a thought that has him wondering whether or not he should pick it back up.
It gives him time to think while the Theocrat departs the bedroom, as well as enough time to peel himself from the warmth of the bath and dry himself off in a bath of flame, so that when Danta returns he’s both already dry as well as picking at the breakfast some more, dark eyes sliding toward him as the door opens and swings shut. Rolling his eyes with a light touch of affection, he reaches out to collect the clothes. “Ah, but then I would be forced to stay up here like a damsel in distress until someone took pity enough to clothe me.” Sarcasm drips from his lips, even if it was partially true. The idea of him going anywhere without clothes was laughable. In which, he could just escape as a fyrhund, though something tells him those within this inn wouldn’t appreciate such a sight.
Stubbornly, without asking for help, the butcher settles on the edge of the bed, trying to bend just enough to get his pants on, jaw tightening with the way it presses on sore bruises, slipping one leg into the pants before the second follows it and he stiffly stands to button up the nice slacks, before his hands lift to comb his hair back. He’s still shirtless, but he sits further up on the bed to make room for Danta and their chosen activity, dark eyes tracking the Maverick. “Would you like to go first?” He asks with a smirk, tail waving behind him in the bed like a lazy feline.
It gives him time to think while the Theocrat departs the bedroom, as well as enough time to peel himself from the warmth of the bath and dry himself off in a bath of flame, so that when Danta returns he’s both already dry as well as picking at the breakfast some more, dark eyes sliding toward him as the door opens and swings shut. Rolling his eyes with a light touch of affection, he reaches out to collect the clothes. “Ah, but then I would be forced to stay up here like a damsel in distress until someone took pity enough to clothe me.” Sarcasm drips from his lips, even if it was partially true. The idea of him going anywhere without clothes was laughable. In which, he could just escape as a fyrhund, though something tells him those within this inn wouldn’t appreciate such a sight.
Stubbornly, without asking for help, the butcher settles on the edge of the bed, trying to bend just enough to get his pants on, jaw tightening with the way it presses on sore bruises, slipping one leg into the pants before the second follows it and he stiffly stands to button up the nice slacks, before his hands lift to comb his hair back. He’s still shirtless, but he sits further up on the bed to make room for Danta and their chosen activity, dark eyes tracking the Maverick. “Would you like to go first?” He asks with a smirk, tail waving behind him in the bed like a lazy feline.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
