// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
Humming a note that seems to say I know I am, the butcher doesn’t seem to say much else as Danta’s arm hooks into his and they head down toward one of – if not the place the butcher spends the most time if not at the Dusklight. And its with a nearly silent and content walk that the butcher’s surprised raise of his brow greets the saccharine smile the blonde shoots him – one, for saying his full name because that hasn’t been a thing in a while it feels like, and for two, he’s already gotten a mixture of dread at the thought.
Either way, he shoots back that too sharp grin in response. “All seasons?” He asks, already imagining which types of festive seasonal outfits the Maverick intends to torment him with, when the excitement from the tailor meets them and he’s easily swanning through the boutique toward the back. Just as he said, within this area is a nice closed off space littered with fabrics and different types of mannequins, different styles (many of which seem inspired by what Astaroth typically wears), and beside the little podium lit with candles and a full spread of mirrors is that lounge chair he had mentioned. It’s gold and black and plush as can be, a curved top to make laying there or propping up on the edge to watch all that much more comfortable, and only when it’s in sight does he release Danta to speak to the tailor who’s already gushing about new patterns and fabrics he’s found.
“I will have to look at those next time. Today’s venture is whatever he chooses for me, crafted by your knowing hands.” He says, gesturing to the Maverick, to which the tailor positively beams at. Gushing for a moment about what kind of honor it was to craft the Theocrat’s vision on such a patient model, and while that happens, Astaroth is already shrugging out of the waistcoat, readying himself for the measurements.
Either way, he shoots back that too sharp grin in response. “All seasons?” He asks, already imagining which types of festive seasonal outfits the Maverick intends to torment him with, when the excitement from the tailor meets them and he’s easily swanning through the boutique toward the back. Just as he said, within this area is a nice closed off space littered with fabrics and different types of mannequins, different styles (many of which seem inspired by what Astaroth typically wears), and beside the little podium lit with candles and a full spread of mirrors is that lounge chair he had mentioned. It’s gold and black and plush as can be, a curved top to make laying there or propping up on the edge to watch all that much more comfortable, and only when it’s in sight does he release Danta to speak to the tailor who’s already gushing about new patterns and fabrics he’s found.
“I will have to look at those next time. Today’s venture is whatever he chooses for me, crafted by your knowing hands.” He says, gesturing to the Maverick, to which the tailor positively beams at. Gushing for a moment about what kind of honor it was to craft the Theocrat’s vision on such a patient model, and while that happens, Astaroth is already shrugging out of the waistcoat, readying himself for the measurements.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
