Dance with the waves, move with the sea,
At first, the redirected question and following smile make her think he's making fun of her, but its softness eases the bristling of her pride. She still narrows her eyes as she lightly shrugs her shoulders. "Good." As long as Asta feels the prize is worth the injuries, she can't say she pities him. If anything, he should wear the injuries with pride; he earned them.
Thal takes another sip of her bourbon to calm the creepy sense of being watched. "I haven'th notithed much on the thea. I wonder if other platheth ('places' for those that don't speak lisp) are feeling the thame." She can't tell if he's having difficulty understanding her, but Thal tries to ignore the lisp, hoping if she doesn't acknowledge it, other people won't either. It's easier than picking her words.
The alcohol may not be good for the control of her tongue (although she'd need a lot more to be drunk), but it's certainly helping with her mood. She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her dark horns to calm the anger boiling within. It isn't Asta's fault, and his offer for assistance reminds her of that. "Ath long ath you don'th laugh." It's soft and gently threatening, but still permission. She's going to have to practice at some point, and it might as well be in the company of a friend. Leaning back with another sigh, she swirls her drink again. "It'th the 'eth' thoundth that are really getthing me." Considering she can't even say the letter 'S,' she'll just have to hope that the Butcher understands her abomination of pronunciations.
Thal takes another sip of her bourbon to calm the creepy sense of being watched. "I haven'th notithed much on the thea. I wonder if other platheth ('places' for those that don't speak lisp) are feeling the thame." She can't tell if he's having difficulty understanding her, but Thal tries to ignore the lisp, hoping if she doesn't acknowledge it, other people won't either. It's easier than picking her words.
The alcohol may not be good for the control of her tongue (although she'd need a lot more to be drunk), but it's certainly helping with her mood. She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her dark horns to calm the anger boiling within. It isn't Asta's fault, and his offer for assistance reminds her of that. "Ath long ath you don'th laugh." It's soft and gently threatening, but still permission. She's going to have to practice at some point, and it might as well be in the company of a friend. Leaning back with another sigh, she swirls her drink again. "It'th the 'eth' thoundth that are really getthing me." Considering she can't even say the letter 'S,' she'll just have to hope that the Butcher understands her abomination of pronunciations.
Thalassa
let the rhythm of the water set your soul free.
