// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
Mask, muzzle, they were all essentially the same as far as the butcher was concerned. But – he can’t complain (too much). He’s already given Danta the green light to craft whatever he wished – and while it wasn’t something he would pick for himself for out in public, well, it certainly was a decent cross so far between his own style and Danta’s own. So for that, it’s rather charming, even if he’s positive it’ll be hell to get out of the leather pants. For now, he’s stuck in them as he returns and the tailor seems like his day has been made tenfold.
Slipping into the shirt with Danta’s help, he straightens up and offers a sigh to the quip offered, even if the smile that curls the corners of his lips betrays any annoyance. “I am unsure how the leather pants might help with me being intimidating, but I will concede.” Because he would do it, wear whatever it was that Danta wished him to, if for nothing else than to say he did.
That and the tailor is working quite hard and quite proud of everything he’s come up with so far, so beyond Astaroth’s usual boundaries that it’s almost like a game for him. A challenge.
The butcher takes a moment to take in the shirt from the front, running his fingers along the herringbone pattern and the way it raises and falls against his chest, before he half turns to see the open back – shooting a curious glance toward Danta at the display and recalling days that the Maverick had mentioned the Dusklight patrons wanted nothing more than to see his scars, before he flashes a saccharine smile. “It’s surprisingly lovely, actually.” Except for the fact that the pants leave nothing to the imagination, nor does the back of the shirt – but he does love the color and he loves the pattern of it at the very least.
It's about this time that the tailor is finishing up the mask, gesturing for Danta to come over to collect it and fit it before checking to see if it needs any adjustments.
Slipping into the shirt with Danta’s help, he straightens up and offers a sigh to the quip offered, even if the smile that curls the corners of his lips betrays any annoyance. “I am unsure how the leather pants might help with me being intimidating, but I will concede.” Because he would do it, wear whatever it was that Danta wished him to, if for nothing else than to say he did.
That and the tailor is working quite hard and quite proud of everything he’s come up with so far, so beyond Astaroth’s usual boundaries that it’s almost like a game for him. A challenge.
The butcher takes a moment to take in the shirt from the front, running his fingers along the herringbone pattern and the way it raises and falls against his chest, before he half turns to see the open back – shooting a curious glance toward Danta at the display and recalling days that the Maverick had mentioned the Dusklight patrons wanted nothing more than to see his scars, before he flashes a saccharine smile. “It’s surprisingly lovely, actually.” Except for the fact that the pants leave nothing to the imagination, nor does the back of the shirt – but he does love the color and he loves the pattern of it at the very least.
It's about this time that the tailor is finishing up the mask, gesturing for Danta to come over to collect it and fit it before checking to see if it needs any adjustments.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
