Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
“It was by design, darling.” Astaroth can’t help the amusement that flickers across his face with it, the incline of his head that makes any challenge of the alternative vanish in the air. “We did not typically learn of our heritage growing up. It was not the happy, close-knit families often seen these days. We lived without knowing whom we were related to until our rite of passage – so, thirteen?” The story itself is one he hadn’t expected to explain, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. And it’s one he puts in a pin in for the moment as he starts to usher the Maverick back toward the bed, toward the den that greets them with blissful darkness and flickering candlelight, of bones that waft amongst the drapery from the simple movement of their bodies as they slip beneath the mezzanine.
“I more than likely would not be here, nor have had a beautiful chance of a second life.” Of being Ancient, he means. Because his identity had become something else entirely. He had been named by them, his Whitebrim name vanishing from anyone’s memories or stories. The only ones who knew of it, stood within this room.
Either way, the butcher goes slow as to not jostle Danta when his legs meet the mattress, but it’s enough time for the blonde to get the waistcoat unbuttoned. He remains standing while the Theocrat slumps down onto the bed and the butcher slips out of the waistcoat, placing it on a hanger before he starts to loosen the tie around his neck. “Anyway, every one of us was given to a Matriarch, but evidently my mother was a sadist in that mine and my siblings Matriarch had been hand chosen. She was… Well, if you can imagine a black widow in the form of a thin woman with razor sharp teeth…?” Danta would get the idea. Thankfully it was nothing like Morax, to be sure, but it was still something he thinks back on now and again. “I was the youngest of three, you see, and she was getting old by then. Her mind was going––” he pauses in his unbuttoning of his shirt once the tie is hung to gesture toward his horned head, distracted easily by the story and the hand movements. “ ––And one day during lessons, when I was ten, she informed me of whom my siblings were. It was a dreadful day.” He finishes this part of the story, letting the nostalgia drain from his gaze as he focuses on Danta with a laugh that bubbles from his chest, trying to ride that balance of amusement and dramatics.
“I more than likely would not be here, nor have had a beautiful chance of a second life.” Of being Ancient, he means. Because his identity had become something else entirely. He had been named by them, his Whitebrim name vanishing from anyone’s memories or stories. The only ones who knew of it, stood within this room.
Either way, the butcher goes slow as to not jostle Danta when his legs meet the mattress, but it’s enough time for the blonde to get the waistcoat unbuttoned. He remains standing while the Theocrat slumps down onto the bed and the butcher slips out of the waistcoat, placing it on a hanger before he starts to loosen the tie around his neck. “Anyway, every one of us was given to a Matriarch, but evidently my mother was a sadist in that mine and my siblings Matriarch had been hand chosen. She was… Well, if you can imagine a black widow in the form of a thin woman with razor sharp teeth…?” Danta would get the idea. Thankfully it was nothing like Morax, to be sure, but it was still something he thinks back on now and again. “I was the youngest of three, you see, and she was getting old by then. Her mind was going––” he pauses in his unbuttoning of his shirt once the tie is hung to gesture toward his horned head, distracted easily by the story and the hand movements. “ ––And one day during lessons, when I was ten, she informed me of whom my siblings were. It was a dreadful day.” He finishes this part of the story, letting the nostalgia drain from his gaze as he focuses on Danta with a laugh that bubbles from his chest, trying to ride that balance of amusement and dramatics.
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
