// we haven't won, and if we win, //
It is a dark subject, but Astaroth seems all the more excited for it. “Truly?” He asks on an air of a breath, like he’s been holding it to hear the surmise of what exactly the rage room would eventually be capable of. It’s almost as good of a distraction as how beautiful Danta is right this second as they turn toward the Mountain’s Roar. Gaze following the path they take and drifting back to see the light glint from the garnets, stepping up so that his shoulder might brush against Danta’s own on occasion, the butcher appreciates everything that Danta has done so far. “So, potentially, we could kill each other and walk away from it?” He teases lightly, even if his mind drifts to the other potential options that ward him away from indulging entirely in Dygra’s name.
You bet he’d be willing to try that, too.
Anyway, the butcher walks along with Danta, carrying his own satchel of supplies, dressed down in a white shirt with arm cuffs to keep the sleeves up despite how they’re rolled, tucked neatly into black pants with black wingtip shoes that make less sound than Danta’s boots do as they crunch over the rubble and bone. Decorated suspenders with designs running up and down the flat portions of the material settle on his shoulders and run down his body, but there are no chains to be found.
No, if they’re going to Mountain’s Roar, Astaroth has been there before. He knows how much blood is there, and he’d be lying if he didn’t wish to take a swim – which is why, in a strange turn of events, the butcher is dressed markedly less formal than usual, to the point that Danta and he look about on par with one another. "How would you feel about a swim once we're done?"
You bet he’d be willing to try that, too.
Anyway, the butcher walks along with Danta, carrying his own satchel of supplies, dressed down in a white shirt with arm cuffs to keep the sleeves up despite how they’re rolled, tucked neatly into black pants with black wingtip shoes that make less sound than Danta’s boots do as they crunch over the rubble and bone. Decorated suspenders with designs running up and down the flat portions of the material settle on his shoulders and run down his body, but there are no chains to be found.
No, if they’re going to Mountain’s Roar, Astaroth has been there before. He knows how much blood is there, and he’d be lying if he didn’t wish to take a swim – which is why, in a strange turn of events, the butcher is dressed markedly less formal than usual, to the point that Danta and he look about on par with one another. "How would you feel about a swim once we're done?"
Astaroth
// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //
