// i am the righteous hand of god //
Danta’s snap reaches the butcher’s ears and he is completely and utterly unphased by it. He gets it, even as the Maverick jerks away from the touch, though it doesn’t stop him from trying later on. If anything, Astaroth is numbed right now. Like he hasn’t come to terms with anything just yet or even thought about much aside from the fact that he was alive, some other goddess had healed him completely, and he got absolutely rocked by a stupid fucking tree. “Trust me, I know.” He comments softly, slowly starting to piece together what the blonde is going through.
He's panicking.
Which only serves to make the please he wasn’t sure if he truly heard earlier all that much more real. And it reminds him of the way they had strayed too close to the fire too many times and shied away time and time again. So he stays silent, because the moment calls for it, letting him speak and wind up and spin out, only to kick a log that doesn’t budge (to which the butcher winces slightly at the sight of it), before the Maverick is stumbling into his side.
This is his opening. The arm tightens around him and drags him into his chest, his other hand propped on the mantle because he knows better than to completely trap the Maverick. He gives him the potential of an out should he want it. He’s learned. “I have not processed it completely just yet. What I do know, darling, is that I am here.” Living, breathing, in the flesh, as it were.
“And that it is very strange to have Safrin heal oneself. I feel like I may bleed starlight.” It’s fading now, of course, but he can still feel it lingering. He wonders if that’s part of the mental fog of not coping with it yet. “But my ego is quite fragile and I am not ready to come to terms with the fact a fucking tree got the best of me.” His voice dips a little into the Whitebrim tones, grittier and a touch playful as if to say; come back from that edge – listen to my voice – I am here, I am here, I am here.
He's panicking.
Which only serves to make the please he wasn’t sure if he truly heard earlier all that much more real. And it reminds him of the way they had strayed too close to the fire too many times and shied away time and time again. So he stays silent, because the moment calls for it, letting him speak and wind up and spin out, only to kick a log that doesn’t budge (to which the butcher winces slightly at the sight of it), before the Maverick is stumbling into his side.
This is his opening. The arm tightens around him and drags him into his chest, his other hand propped on the mantle because he knows better than to completely trap the Maverick. He gives him the potential of an out should he want it. He’s learned. “I have not processed it completely just yet. What I do know, darling, is that I am here.” Living, breathing, in the flesh, as it were.
“And that it is very strange to have Safrin heal oneself. I feel like I may bleed starlight.” It’s fading now, of course, but he can still feel it lingering. He wonders if that’s part of the mental fog of not coping with it yet. “But my ego is quite fragile and I am not ready to come to terms with the fact a fucking tree got the best of me.” His voice dips a little into the Whitebrim tones, grittier and a touch playful as if to say; come back from that edge – listen to my voice – I am here, I am here, I am here.
Astaroth
// i am the devil that you forgot //
