reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
The sarcasm, for what it is, has the butcher silent – picking it apart for far longer than he otherwise should be. And as it stands, he isn’t sure what Danta would believe. All he knows is that the second that he shows up to the Dusklight, his appearance would solve enough questions for one evening. Long enough to hopefully give him a semblance of thought back. “Don’t think it’d be that weird. He’s got a fuckin crow shift and a crow companion.” If anyone would understand, it’s probably the Maverick.
It’s nightmare after nightmare for him regarding the shift and the companion, but Danta had tried and done such a good fucking job at keeping him from feeling like this all the time. It’s a feeling he hates as much as anything else, the sensation that he couldn’t do anything about it burning intensely in his gut with the churning nausea that’s thankfully mostly at bay. And without Jack’s blood to drown out his senses, he feels a bit less on edge.
Nodding as they pick their path through and his tall frame brushes past a too long fern (holding it at bay whether intentionally or not for Flora to pass by), he continues to keep his focus ahead. “I do think I’m okay right now. I’m not… Stuck, or anything. Feels like I did after she beat the fuck out of me. Y'know, after she followed me when I did run.” He doesn’t remember what he told her about the encounter with Maea, but one thing Flora will learn very quickly about panic-minded Asta is that history and words drip from his lips without any thought whatsoever, letting truth spill here and there as if he’s overflowed for too long with them and in order to fit the trauma of the crows, other nightmares need to spill.
It’s nightmare after nightmare for him regarding the shift and the companion, but Danta had tried and done such a good fucking job at keeping him from feeling like this all the time. It’s a feeling he hates as much as anything else, the sensation that he couldn’t do anything about it burning intensely in his gut with the churning nausea that’s thankfully mostly at bay. And without Jack’s blood to drown out his senses, he feels a bit less on edge.
Nodding as they pick their path through and his tall frame brushes past a too long fern (holding it at bay whether intentionally or not for Flora to pass by), he continues to keep his focus ahead. “I do think I’m okay right now. I’m not… Stuck, or anything. Feels like I did after she beat the fuck out of me. Y'know, after she followed me when I did run.” He doesn’t remember what he told her about the encounter with Maea, but one thing Flora will learn very quickly about panic-minded Asta is that history and words drip from his lips without any thought whatsoever, letting truth spill here and there as if he’s overflowed for too long with them and in order to fit the trauma of the crows, other nightmares need to spill.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
