// as long as there's bread and as long as there's an appetite //
Sarcasm is one of the better things Asta does these days, but while Danta is struck with who they had once been and what they are up to now – the butcher has thought about that a lot this season, from the first time he’d handed out everything to ensure the Ancients of the Grounds were as prepared as they could be. He’d contemplated it because Thal had asked the question of whether or not it was better to let them figure it out on their own and he had simply told her that while they could suffer alone in silence, they didn’t have to. Just as they didn’t have to suffer anymore either.
And like, with the faction Asta had been a part of, they were stronger together than they were apart.
“Nosy?” He mock scoffs as his attention returns to the Theocrat while the bowl is filled, but the glint in the dark of his gaze and the smile glued to his face proves that the Maverick is completely right in his assumption. “Never, darling.” He purrs as his tail flicks when he turns back toward the Ancient, handing off the soup with a bright smile and gentle words of encouragement to bolster them. Deepfrost was nearly over, the cold would return back to its shitty depths, and life would go on with as little statues to find come Flowerbirth as possible.
“What kind of soup is it?” He hums as he straightens, turning enough to brush his shoulder against Danta’s gently, so much more relaxed with showing the brief touches of affection in public these days. “It smells quite good.” He leans over a little to inspect it from above, trying to pick it out.
And like, with the faction Asta had been a part of, they were stronger together than they were apart.
“Nosy?” He mock scoffs as his attention returns to the Theocrat while the bowl is filled, but the glint in the dark of his gaze and the smile glued to his face proves that the Maverick is completely right in his assumption. “Never, darling.” He purrs as his tail flicks when he turns back toward the Ancient, handing off the soup with a bright smile and gentle words of encouragement to bolster them. Deepfrost was nearly over, the cold would return back to its shitty depths, and life would go on with as little statues to find come Flowerbirth as possible.
“What kind of soup is it?” He hums as he straightens, turning enough to brush his shoulder against Danta’s gently, so much more relaxed with showing the brief touches of affection in public these days. “It smells quite good.” He leans over a little to inspect it from above, trying to pick it out.
Astaroth
// as long as everyone you need is stepping in line, you are camouflaged //
