my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
It had taken a bit of time to get the squirrelly man he’s in love with, into the fine suit without all of the fidgeting. But as far as Astaroth is concerned, Danta looks perfect, in the dark hue of the suit that flares red when the flames flicker brightly toward them. So busy is he, in fact, that he’s watching Danta rather than taking in the interior (Kiada isn’t here to steal the show just yet, and he’s sure based off his meeting with Fox that the hunter would like nothing more than to not have the butcher’s attention).
So Danta will do. And he does very well, up until the comment leaves him that has the butcher perking up with a brief and low thrum of a laugh. “No?” He purrs a little playfully, simply to be annoying. He, himself, has chosen a matching hue to Danta’s own. The deep dark suit adorned with an equally crimson sheened dark shirt. His waistcoat, however, is blood red with silver flares akin to flames (he’d helped Kiada pick the flame whirls in her dress, so he had to go with something similarly). His hair is back neatly and his antlers boast golden chains and trinkets that dangle from them, moving and capturing the light with each twist of his head. “And why might that be?” He probes.
Marriage had never been on his mind, but given that Danta seems so against it at this moment, he can’t help but to lean toward it purely from the amusement factor. Regardless of whether or not he gets his answer, Asta doesn’t mind, happy to take in the moment the second that the harpy arrives.
So Danta will do. And he does very well, up until the comment leaves him that has the butcher perking up with a brief and low thrum of a laugh. “No?” He purrs a little playfully, simply to be annoying. He, himself, has chosen a matching hue to Danta’s own. The deep dark suit adorned with an equally crimson sheened dark shirt. His waistcoat, however, is blood red with silver flares akin to flames (he’d helped Kiada pick the flame whirls in her dress, so he had to go with something similarly). His hair is back neatly and his antlers boast golden chains and trinkets that dangle from them, moving and capturing the light with each twist of his head. “And why might that be?” He probes.
Marriage had never been on his mind, but given that Danta seems so against it at this moment, he can’t help but to lean toward it purely from the amusement factor. Regardless of whether or not he gets his answer, Asta doesn’t mind, happy to take in the moment the second that the harpy arrives.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
