Astaroth
i think i'm the devil in disguise, here's my state of mind
She had been the culprit that had woken him from the nap, and it’s precisely why he keeps his legs tucked in and away from any more surprises that she might have in store. She doesn’t, thankfully for him, and gods is he eternally grateful Danta isn’t around to have the realization that the butcher can be quite ticklish. Instead, Astaroth invites Isla into the little space, shifting just enough to give her room beneath the parasol as he closes up the book he’s lost his place in.
Immediately, he’s shaking his head with a huff of a laugh. “Not particularly. It was supposed to be a murder mystery and while it had started out well, it has become unsurprisingly predictable.” Squinting down at the book as if annoyed by the fact he could guess the plot twists, it really shouldn’t surprise him given the way his own mind works.
Straightening up his back and ignoring the book, he casts his dark gaze toward her with that same too sharp grin, each scar still on display albeit more pale than the rest of his skin from the dash out in the blinding sun. At least he hadn’t burned. “It is quite nice, actually.” But had it not been for Flora and his talk, he might have felt a little less inclined to return to Torchline. Like the Queen might have Safrin smite him on sight.
Leaning back to where his arm brushes against hers against the board, the butcher peers out into the heat he can see radiating from the sand in the distance, warping the view of the water as it crashes against the shore. “With how warm it is, it is perfect for us.” And only them right now, given how hot everything is. And he relishes it, not unlike a snake wanting to bask in the glow of a sun hot rock. “So,” he pauses, turning toward her as his grin twists a bit more playfully. “What have you been up to? Aside from your profession, darling.” Because if he knows Isla as well as he thinks he does, she’d simply tell him work, work, and more work.
Immediately, he’s shaking his head with a huff of a laugh. “Not particularly. It was supposed to be a murder mystery and while it had started out well, it has become unsurprisingly predictable.” Squinting down at the book as if annoyed by the fact he could guess the plot twists, it really shouldn’t surprise him given the way his own mind works.
Straightening up his back and ignoring the book, he casts his dark gaze toward her with that same too sharp grin, each scar still on display albeit more pale than the rest of his skin from the dash out in the blinding sun. At least he hadn’t burned. “It is quite nice, actually.” But had it not been for Flora and his talk, he might have felt a little less inclined to return to Torchline. Like the Queen might have Safrin smite him on sight.
Leaning back to where his arm brushes against hers against the board, the butcher peers out into the heat he can see radiating from the sand in the distance, warping the view of the water as it crashes against the shore. “With how warm it is, it is perfect for us.” And only them right now, given how hot everything is. And he relishes it, not unlike a snake wanting to bask in the glow of a sun hot rock. “So,” he pauses, turning toward her as his grin twists a bit more playfully. “What have you been up to? Aside from your profession, darling.” Because if he knows Isla as well as he thinks he does, she’d simply tell him work, work, and more work.
give me destruction, tell me i'm scrumptious
i'm a fucking delight
i'm a fucking delight
