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
Truthfully, the last thing Astaroth expects Danta to want to see when it came to Halo were the ursurs, and it’s evidenced by the smile that twists a touch wider despite the rest of his face taking on an almost confused look – hidden by how the blonde’s head lolls into his shoulder, but maybe felt with the way the Maverick’s hands smooth through his dark hair, still soft from the healing fountain. “Somehow I am both surprised and not surprised by that realization. I figured you may be more inclined to want to see the white dragons.” The ones that terrorized the span of land for quite some time. But an ursur was likely easier to come by, and certainly easier to take down.
But talk dampens the mood, focusing on the fact that neither of them had parents to raise them but societies own appointed ‘mothers’ in a sense. And as he shifts to hand Danta the bottle of white rum, a deep hum of a laugh leaves him as he nods. “We are quite stellar.” He drawls as if to punctuate the point, even if it comes out a touch sarcastic. But hey, Danta’s really made a name for himself since then. Ruling a region, doing whatever it was he pleased with his own decisions, not influenced by someone else. And given everything, the butcher finds in the deep recesses of his heart that he’s quite proud of him.
“Thank Dygra for that.” The butcher flashes a bright, sharp grin toward Danta as he takes the bottle back, lifting to his lips as his dark honeyed gaze lingers on the Maverick. “The first of many, I am sure.” Which, if they all went like this? He certainly does need to go on more as well.
The rum burns as it slips down his throat, letting a soft hiss escape his lips as he shifts to set the bottle back down, twisting in the bed to tug Danta up against him to tangle his legs with his and his tail around him. “For what it is worth, I am sorry I threw you into the fountain.” He offers quietly, pressing his face into the golden crown of the other Ancient’s hair.
But talk dampens the mood, focusing on the fact that neither of them had parents to raise them but societies own appointed ‘mothers’ in a sense. And as he shifts to hand Danta the bottle of white rum, a deep hum of a laugh leaves him as he nods. “We are quite stellar.” He drawls as if to punctuate the point, even if it comes out a touch sarcastic. But hey, Danta’s really made a name for himself since then. Ruling a region, doing whatever it was he pleased with his own decisions, not influenced by someone else. And given everything, the butcher finds in the deep recesses of his heart that he’s quite proud of him.
“Thank Dygra for that.” The butcher flashes a bright, sharp grin toward Danta as he takes the bottle back, lifting to his lips as his dark honeyed gaze lingers on the Maverick. “The first of many, I am sure.” Which, if they all went like this? He certainly does need to go on more as well.
The rum burns as it slips down his throat, letting a soft hiss escape his lips as he shifts to set the bottle back down, twisting in the bed to tug Danta up against him to tangle his legs with his and his tail around him. “For what it is worth, I am sorry I threw you into the fountain.” He offers quietly, pressing his face into the golden crown of the other Ancient’s hair.
Astaroth
fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart
