the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
It’s a decent excuse, at least, and one that the butcher fully intends on continuing as well – given that it’s their room now and they both should likely be on the same page – and one made even more valuable by the addition of their made up little story about their haunted chimney (and whatever could potentially be living up there with all the soot and ash from the constant flame within the fireplace).
“It does.” Astaroth hums, his accented voice rich and playful. “The next time I hear it, I shall let you know.” Letting his grin widen before he’s depositing the candles where they see fit, he makes his way to the fireplace to laden it with a few other colorful additions when he makes his follow up request for Danta to burn the sage.
He does see the lingering look, though, and he registers it almost immediately in the slight widening of his too sharp smile, in the thrill that shakes its way down his spine even as Danta has to force his gaze away. Untouchable, for all but just one. Intimidating, too, even with as mundane tasks as placing and lighting candle on the mantle of their raging fireplace.
A deep rumble of a laugh escapes him as he turns more fully toward Danta with the bag of few candles left, watching as the smoke starts to pour like milk from the bundles, wrapping around the Maverick’s arm. “Darling, I was born an angry spirit.” Asta touts with pride, grin sharper, aiming for quite the dramatic image of being a literal nightmare – as such, that the Halo that Danta had seen becomes a real one – a stream of flickering red and orange wind around his head and through the tines of his horns like a warbling, moving angelic halo meant for hell and demons more than something pure.
Because they both know he’s anything but. “Now before I go and start complaining, where would you like the last two candles to be placed?” He asks, his mahogany gaze glued to the blonde and the smoke that winds around him and starts to fill the room with a scent so very similar to Danta that despite his dramatics, he could never find it in him to complain.
“It does.” Astaroth hums, his accented voice rich and playful. “The next time I hear it, I shall let you know.” Letting his grin widen before he’s depositing the candles where they see fit, he makes his way to the fireplace to laden it with a few other colorful additions when he makes his follow up request for Danta to burn the sage.
He does see the lingering look, though, and he registers it almost immediately in the slight widening of his too sharp smile, in the thrill that shakes its way down his spine even as Danta has to force his gaze away. Untouchable, for all but just one. Intimidating, too, even with as mundane tasks as placing and lighting candle on the mantle of their raging fireplace.
A deep rumble of a laugh escapes him as he turns more fully toward Danta with the bag of few candles left, watching as the smoke starts to pour like milk from the bundles, wrapping around the Maverick’s arm. “Darling, I was born an angry spirit.” Asta touts with pride, grin sharper, aiming for quite the dramatic image of being a literal nightmare – as such, that the Halo that Danta had seen becomes a real one – a stream of flickering red and orange wind around his head and through the tines of his horns like a warbling, moving angelic halo meant for hell and demons more than something pure.
Because they both know he’s anything but. “Now before I go and start complaining, where would you like the last two candles to be placed?” He asks, his mahogany gaze glued to the blonde and the smoke that winds around him and starts to fill the room with a scent so very similar to Danta that despite his dramatics, he could never find it in him to complain.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
