you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name
Listening to the history lesson, the butcher does find it interesting — and given what he knows of Torchline, he imagines they do find it quite lucky whether or not it was or wasn’t. “Makes sense.” He hums thoughtfully, as if lingering on the idea of it a bit longer than is necessary as he avoids banging Danta’s face into the doorframe.
Feeling the jovial wave the Maverick offers, Asta’s already tightening his hold on the blonde as they begin to ascend the stairs, shivering lightly to feel the hands in his hair as it’s brushed back and out of his face. His tail even flicks idly with content, when a thought occurs. “Why not a healing blood fountain?” He suggests with a wider grin forming on his face.
Now that is precisely the butcher’s style.
Barking a laugh out as he lowers himself to let Danta get back to his feet, it’s with an unimpressed yet playful glare he shoots toward the blonde before he opens the door. “That would mean you would intentionally be going there for the sole reason of removing them.” Bouncing a brow, he waits for Danta to step in before closing the door and sliding the lock. “How often do you get injured otherwise?” Aside from today, obviously. “It feels personal.” He goes through with all the dramatics, the hand over his heart, the low lilt of his voice as his tail twists around his leg, ever the image of hurt feelings.
Feeling the jovial wave the Maverick offers, Asta’s already tightening his hold on the blonde as they begin to ascend the stairs, shivering lightly to feel the hands in his hair as it’s brushed back and out of his face. His tail even flicks idly with content, when a thought occurs. “Why not a healing blood fountain?” He suggests with a wider grin forming on his face.
Now that is precisely the butcher’s style.
Barking a laugh out as he lowers himself to let Danta get back to his feet, it’s with an unimpressed yet playful glare he shoots toward the blonde before he opens the door. “That would mean you would intentionally be going there for the sole reason of removing them.” Bouncing a brow, he waits for Danta to step in before closing the door and sliding the lock. “How often do you get injured otherwise?” Aside from today, obviously. “It feels personal.” He goes through with all the dramatics, the hand over his heart, the low lilt of his voice as his tail twists around his leg, ever the image of hurt feelings.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
