there's an angel on your story and a demon in your bed
feels a bit surreal, feeling bad, don't feel it yet
feels a bit surreal, feeling bad, don't feel it yet
An undercurrent of excitement streams through Astaroth’s shoulders and spine, only evidenced with the way the spaded tip of his tail flicks back and forth like an interested cat’s might, standing with his arms clasped in front of him as he watches Thalassa begin to direct the remaining candidates. The dark of his gaze glitters with the prospect, and he watches as each of the candidates begin to drift off, and while they wait and Thalassa sits on a barrel, the butcher finds one for himself that’s settled in some direct sunlight, content to bask and soak up the warmth of Torchline in Longheat.
The wind ruffles his hair at some point, though, that and the way his head tilts slightly to listen as the thumps and cries occur from within, twisting the corners of his lips up in a small half smirk. Threading his fingers through his hair to comb it back, the butcher straightens out his clothes as soon as the door opens, returning to his full prim posture once more.
As the cook steps out, dragging a body behind him and the other two candidates remain on their feet, the butcher takes in the show with a vibrant grin of his sharpened teeth, slotted together not unlike a shark’s. He looks between the two remaining candidates as Thalassa asks for their names and sees if they’ve retrieved what she’d sent them in for, and he keeps that grin on full display (if not perhaps a touch eagerly) when Thal turns her question onto them.
There’s something about the both of them that makes it immensely difficult to choose – but Astaroth has always been a fan of the idea of being a wolf in sheeps clothing, per say. He did a fine job of it himself, anyway. So as he peers between the two of them and his dark gaze flits back to the other Ancient, the black of his eyes are made honey gold in the stream of sunlight he continues to bask in. “I will admit, it is a difficult choice.” He starts to say, his rich accent pouring over every word, but he glances back toward the two candidates when he finally names his decision. “I prefer Spook.” A healthy dose of intimidation and wariness amongst being completely capable to do what was required? That was practically Astaroth’s brand of person.
Astaroth picks Spook :D
The wind ruffles his hair at some point, though, that and the way his head tilts slightly to listen as the thumps and cries occur from within, twisting the corners of his lips up in a small half smirk. Threading his fingers through his hair to comb it back, the butcher straightens out his clothes as soon as the door opens, returning to his full prim posture once more.
As the cook steps out, dragging a body behind him and the other two candidates remain on their feet, the butcher takes in the show with a vibrant grin of his sharpened teeth, slotted together not unlike a shark’s. He looks between the two remaining candidates as Thalassa asks for their names and sees if they’ve retrieved what she’d sent them in for, and he keeps that grin on full display (if not perhaps a touch eagerly) when Thal turns her question onto them.
There’s something about the both of them that makes it immensely difficult to choose – but Astaroth has always been a fan of the idea of being a wolf in sheeps clothing, per say. He did a fine job of it himself, anyway. So as he peers between the two of them and his dark gaze flits back to the other Ancient, the black of his eyes are made honey gold in the stream of sunlight he continues to bask in. “I will admit, it is a difficult choice.” He starts to say, his rich accent pouring over every word, but he glances back toward the two candidates when he finally names his decision. “I prefer Spook.” A healthy dose of intimidation and wariness amongst being completely capable to do what was required? That was practically Astaroth’s brand of person.
Astaroth picks Spook :D
Astaroth
it's a roulette kinda deal, black and red is what you get
