so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
He makes it a point, even if it isn’t his business anymore, not when tomorrow rolls around, to try and keep an eye on it — to try and make sure that the second Danta starts preferring things rare that they needed to get him to hunt. He should have known that Danta wouldn’t recognize when he was hungry. The Theocrat had told him so many times that was the case and he didn’t listen.
That was his problem, wasn’t it? Unable to read between the lines and listen when it really mattered, instead taking words said in confidence and sharpening them like knives in the recesses of his mind to bring out when all else failed.
If he knew what he was doing was manipulative, he’d recoil back from Danta with the realization. He might even stay a few nights here in the Climb to try and get his mind back together, to try and realize where the wires got crossed wrong and maybe do something about it.
But selfishly, so selfishly, the second Danta steps toward him and agrees, even on a whisper and his bloodied hands fight at the arms folded too tight against his chest, Astaroth immediately drops them to envelop him, all blood and viscera spreading between them, forgotten by the butcher as he pulls Danta in tight and presses his bearded cheek to the Maverick’s blood coated one, and he’s trembling, so very unlike the man he had been in the Climb. “I will leave you alone tomorrow.” He quietly vows, a whisper for Danta’s ears only. “I’m so sorry.”
That was his problem, wasn’t it? Unable to read between the lines and listen when it really mattered, instead taking words said in confidence and sharpening them like knives in the recesses of his mind to bring out when all else failed.
If he knew what he was doing was manipulative, he’d recoil back from Danta with the realization. He might even stay a few nights here in the Climb to try and get his mind back together, to try and realize where the wires got crossed wrong and maybe do something about it.
But selfishly, so selfishly, the second Danta steps toward him and agrees, even on a whisper and his bloodied hands fight at the arms folded too tight against his chest, Astaroth immediately drops them to envelop him, all blood and viscera spreading between them, forgotten by the butcher as he pulls Danta in tight and presses his bearded cheek to the Maverick’s blood coated one, and he’s trembling, so very unlike the man he had been in the Climb. “I will leave you alone tomorrow.” He quietly vows, a whisper for Danta’s ears only. “I’m so sorry.”
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
