// with our one foot in the grave //
It’s comical, truly, and as Danta blinks up at him once realizing he isn’t plummeting to the ground, Astaroth releases the breath he’d been holding. His own deep rumble escapes him – wearily – until Danta’s snagging the apple he’d lodged against one of his pronged horns and confusion flares for a brief moment before he rolls his eyes.
If he hadn’t been holding the glass jar with the seed ghost, Astaroth likely would’ve dropped him from this height just for good measure. “You are lucky. And a menace.” He drawls, his accented tone a touch thicker than it had been before. Shifting to help him get to his feet, the butcher withdraws and reaches up to feel the sticky liquid of the apple’s juices having already dried to the horn. “I would have let you fall if you didn’t have the jar in your hands.” He taunts, straightening out his shirt and brushing down his shoulders from where Danta had stood, trying to get his footprints off of the silken shirt.
If he hadn’t been holding the glass jar with the seed ghost, Astaroth likely would’ve dropped him from this height just for good measure. “You are lucky. And a menace.” He drawls, his accented tone a touch thicker than it had been before. Shifting to help him get to his feet, the butcher withdraws and reaches up to feel the sticky liquid of the apple’s juices having already dried to the horn. “I would have let you fall if you didn’t have the jar in your hands.” He taunts, straightening out his shirt and brushing down his shoulders from where Danta had stood, trying to get his footprints off of the silken shirt.
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
