// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
Dark eyes watch as the whiskey is put together, before the answer greets him and the butcher is already nodding – a loose dark hair falling into his face that he reaches up to smooth back. “An hour, then.” Comes the velvet agreement, muffled yet thickly accented al the same, before he straightens up and watches the Maverick vanish into the backrooms, however temporarily.
He can feel the eyes on him with each step he takes toward his usual post, leaning up against the wall with a frame of exposed wood, arms crossed and tail drifting languidly, his dark eyes scan each and every table and patron upon them. Of course, the fair few of them are staring at him – some to the mask and the man behind it, others taking in full appreciation of the leather pantsthanks Danta, but the second they notice his attention back they twist their gaze away.
Perhaps it was as good of a deterrent as Danta had suggested?
At least, he thinks so until someone far too inebriated stumbles over from behind him, a tall, fair haired woman who’s eyes are fully drinking him in. Her hand goes to tug at the open air of his shirt, thankfully not ghosting across his scars just yet, but it does cause him to freeze and twist toward her with a dark seething look. “Do you require assistance?” He asks in that muffled tone, albeit much more deadpanned and daring.
He can feel the eyes on him with each step he takes toward his usual post, leaning up against the wall with a frame of exposed wood, arms crossed and tail drifting languidly, his dark eyes scan each and every table and patron upon them. Of course, the fair few of them are staring at him – some to the mask and the man behind it, others taking in full appreciation of the leather pants
Perhaps it was as good of a deterrent as Danta had suggested?
At least, he thinks so until someone far too inebriated stumbles over from behind him, a tall, fair haired woman who’s eyes are fully drinking him in. Her hand goes to tug at the open air of his shirt, thankfully not ghosting across his scars just yet, but it does cause him to freeze and twist toward her with a dark seething look. “Do you require assistance?” He asks in that muffled tone, albeit much more deadpanned and daring.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
