we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within
let your desire be simply acquired within, within
He’s also quite keen to skip the part of freezing to death. Especially in the place he’d grown up expecting to die, anyway. If he can avoid it, he fully intends to. But it’s with a surprising amount of nostalgia and the strangeness of being here dressed as he is when he was partial to furs and bulking up as much as he could against the snow. Even as he glances back toward the entrance of where his home had been, the butcher still sees the fur crumpled in the corner under the eve that protects it from the snow temporarily. Like he’d only stepped in for a moment before he was planning to depart again.
He was a scout, though, so it makes sense he never stuck around here long unless needed to. So when Danta approaches and nudges him with his shoulder, the butcher’s gaze flits down, horns blotting out the sun briefly. “Nostalgic?” He says, unsure how else to say that it was fucking weird to be back in the place he’d resigned himself to never being able to see again. But here they are.
“Gods no,” Astaroth begins, barking the laugh that echoes against the snowscaped environment. “I did, in fact, bring quite a few people home with me. Although they were for dinner.” The main course, as it were. “I never once brought anyone home to meet the family.” And it wouldn’t be today, either, with how desolate he’d made it.
Either way, he flashes his sharp smile toward Danta as he plucks the bags up again and pulls open the door with a practiced ease. “Come, let me show you inside.” And away from the blinding sun on the snow.
The interior is very similar – large bones used for structure amongst the wood, ensuring that it wouldn’t cave in if a lot of snow fell overnight. But the interior is truly the shine – nothing old and robust and beautifully crafted at first glance. Survival, mostly. Snow and dirt make up the base where the bed sat at the back in a nestle of furs and blankets just as he was prone to make his dens. The center harbored more furs and hides, like placemats to sit amongst the charred remnants of where a fire would go. And, as if above it, the glint of sun peeked through a snowy vent so that the smoke didn’t remain.
Carvings were scattered around, and along the wall, knives of all kinds were hung on a series of wood frames. And that was.. mostly it. Empty and devoid except for the life Astaroth had put into it with all his carvings and etchings and the multitude of soft blankets strewn about. “I did not often spend time in here unless it were to sleep or in an attempt to warm up.” But, perhaps it makes sense why he collects all kinds of treasures in hoards these days.
Because the second he’d moved into the Climb and been renamed, he’d realized he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. And he had the ability to stay warm and comfortable in a room that was entirely his own for all kinds of trinkets from his travels to go.
He was a scout, though, so it makes sense he never stuck around here long unless needed to. So when Danta approaches and nudges him with his shoulder, the butcher’s gaze flits down, horns blotting out the sun briefly. “Nostalgic?” He says, unsure how else to say that it was fucking weird to be back in the place he’d resigned himself to never being able to see again. But here they are.
“Gods no,” Astaroth begins, barking the laugh that echoes against the snowscaped environment. “I did, in fact, bring quite a few people home with me. Although they were for dinner.” The main course, as it were. “I never once brought anyone home to meet the family.” And it wouldn’t be today, either, with how desolate he’d made it.
Either way, he flashes his sharp smile toward Danta as he plucks the bags up again and pulls open the door with a practiced ease. “Come, let me show you inside.” And away from the blinding sun on the snow.
The interior is very similar – large bones used for structure amongst the wood, ensuring that it wouldn’t cave in if a lot of snow fell overnight. But the interior is truly the shine – nothing old and robust and beautifully crafted at first glance. Survival, mostly. Snow and dirt make up the base where the bed sat at the back in a nestle of furs and blankets just as he was prone to make his dens. The center harbored more furs and hides, like placemats to sit amongst the charred remnants of where a fire would go. And, as if above it, the glint of sun peeked through a snowy vent so that the smoke didn’t remain.
Carvings were scattered around, and along the wall, knives of all kinds were hung on a series of wood frames. And that was.. mostly it. Empty and devoid except for the life Astaroth had put into it with all his carvings and etchings and the multitude of soft blankets strewn about. “I did not often spend time in here unless it were to sleep or in an attempt to warm up.” But, perhaps it makes sense why he collects all kinds of treasures in hoards these days.
Because the second he’d moved into the Climb and been renamed, he’d realized he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. And he had the ability to stay warm and comfortable in a room that was entirely his own for all kinds of trinkets from his travels to go.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
