go home, lie down, decompose

now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence

Ever grateful for the portal that takes them immediately into the Climb, Astaroth exhales a sigh of content as the overwhelming warmth invades his senses of the volcanic region, flashing a too sharp grin over his shoulder toward his Theocrat. “A metal of my choosing, she said. I cannot decide if I wish to be flashy or not.” Perhaps his attire should be the only flashy part of him, if only to detract from the threat of the weapon.

Either way, having little idea what lingers beneath the walls and trying to scout any veins he might be able to spot through the dark obsidian and lava that makes up the majority, Astaroth arrives with Cheerleader!Danta, knowing he’d be doing most all of the work.

A pickaxe is slung over his shoulder and he’s dressed down even more than what Danta would likely be expecting — slacks were a must, but rather than wear and ruin one of his nice silken shirts (even the ones he did the most dirty work in), they can’t be found here. The butcher sports a dark cotton v-neck shirt, low enough that the scars peek out from beneath it. “Do you happen to have any beautiful ideas, darling?” He had explained the idea to the Maverick, after all, and for as much as he appreciated his own thoughts on the subject perhaps he might miss something if he doesn’t at least ask for an opinion.

Astaroth

beg me for forgiveness