Astaroth
// a beast in the business of selling forgiveness //
He pays as much attention to placing Danta’s sweater as he had his own, draping it over the edge of the bed reverently. And as he returns and rolls onto his side, horned head pressed into the bed as he peers back at the Maverick, the butcher smiles darkly and sweetly at the blonde as he drapes his arm around him in turn, tail coiling around his leg. “Let me know, I will gladly take a front row seat.” He would be absolutely delighted.
As for his sister and floating, he nods and lets the smile twist a touch softer as warm lips meet his scarred knuckles, his fingertips extending out to brush against the Maverick’s jawline.
“I don’t mind sharing, darling. Not to you. That being said, no.” He hums softly, refraining from shaking his head as much as he wants to — not wanting to tear the blankets. “She died when I was eleven.” There doesn’t seem to be any remorse in his face or tone, simply just matter of fact. “She was a relatively popular woman amongst my clan. Cunning and conniving.”
As for his sister and floating, he nods and lets the smile twist a touch softer as warm lips meet his scarred knuckles, his fingertips extending out to brush against the Maverick’s jawline.
“I don’t mind sharing, darling. Not to you. That being said, no.” He hums softly, refraining from shaking his head as much as he wants to — not wanting to tear the blankets. “She died when I was eleven.” There doesn’t seem to be any remorse in his face or tone, simply just matter of fact. “She was a relatively popular woman amongst my clan. Cunning and conniving.”
// dead eyes on a treacherous grin //
