i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
If nothing else, the butcher supposes that he has the politeness to make it work – but as Flora continues, some portions remain the same. He is also a bit older and yes, he does also have a past. A past he has not shared with Flora completely, and for the most part he doesn’t intend to. “Ah yes, I do know.” Astaroth hums softly, giving her arm a light squeeze from where she’s placed it entangled with his, pressing it against his side and the smooth fabric of his coat. “I suppose I would consider it overprotective?” In terms of her fathers, at least. That maybe, unlike his own past, there had been a greater good that was focused on.
Rounding the corner, he releases her as she starts to pull away from him – watching with warm dark eyes as she drifts toward the shrine dedicated to Safrin. And while it isn’t his cup of tea (and he takes note of a distinct lacking of a shrine to his goddessand of rare creatures), the butcher shoots Flora a playfully sharp grin. “I was Accepted, once upon a time.” He isn’t sure if she knows that tidbit of his past – that he hadn’t always been Ancient, and if she didn’t, well, now she does.
His tail flicks idly and his posture remains nearly impeccable, drawing him taller than he should otherwise be with the help of the pronged horns on display as he continues. “Though I was not as culturally… mm, experienced? We did not often leave offerings to the gods unless it were to the seasonal deities -- the Eirachi, in particular, for an easier means to hunt.” His tongue clicks as he thinks about those particularly offerings – something that seemed so trivial and nearly barbaric compared to todays offerings and abilities.
Rounding the corner, he releases her as she starts to pull away from him – watching with warm dark eyes as she drifts toward the shrine dedicated to Safrin. And while it isn’t his cup of tea (and he takes note of a distinct lacking of a shrine to his goddess
His tail flicks idly and his posture remains nearly impeccable, drawing him taller than he should otherwise be with the help of the pronged horns on display as he continues. “Though I was not as culturally… mm, experienced? We did not often leave offerings to the gods unless it were to the seasonal deities -- the Eirachi, in particular, for an easier means to hunt.” His tongue clicks as he thinks about those particularly offerings – something that seemed so trivial and nearly barbaric compared to todays offerings and abilities.
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
