// you've got your finger on the trigger //
He watches the enthusiastic twirl of Flora’s dress with a bit of glee and appreciation. He doesn’t want to take all of her attention, however, not as he searches for drinks to catch up to Danta’s already downed amount. So much so that while he’s snagging another shot from a passing tray, he knocks it back as Danta faces him and he can see over his lover’s shoulder as Maea approaches.
His tail has otherwise been an easy weave at his heels, but it flicks sharper and sharper, jagged and crooked even with the soft warm press of Danta’s hand against his chest and the arm he can feel around his waist. The smile glued to his face twists sharper, darker, masked immediately upon hearing her apology only barely above the music of the band. A keening sound remains, however, a droning pitch that accompanies the brief hiss of breath that escapes his lips.
Interrupted by the way Danta leans in to murmur in his jeweled ear, the twitch of his fingers at his hip, the graze of his teeth against the soft skin beneath his lobe. His smile feathers, wavers for a fraction as his dark eyes focuses on Maea. The Maverick is right, though, as he usually was, but it doesn’t stop the wild flash of his ashen tipped tail as Maea’s words rebound in his mind.
He opts for not ruining Flora’s night. And so, the butcher reinvigorates that grin on his face with a new flare, a step back that tugs Danta with him as his arm snugly slips around the Theocrat’s middle, where his shadow casts on the Maverick's back begin to warble with movement like it has a mind of its own. “If I recall correctly, it was to be my choice to reach out to you to.. mm, hear your apology, no?” He begins, not giving her a moment to respond (and if she does, he intends to cut her off). “This is neither my choice nor the appropriate time to indulge you just so that you may enjoy the event.” Sharp teeth flash with the dismissal and complete avoidance of acknowledging her apology, twisting instead to utilize his hold on the Maverick and the liquor already burning through his veins to twist them around toward the darker crevices of the party for the moment to cool off lest he truly ruin Flora’s night.
His tail has otherwise been an easy weave at his heels, but it flicks sharper and sharper, jagged and crooked even with the soft warm press of Danta’s hand against his chest and the arm he can feel around his waist. The smile glued to his face twists sharper, darker, masked immediately upon hearing her apology only barely above the music of the band. A keening sound remains, however, a droning pitch that accompanies the brief hiss of breath that escapes his lips.
Interrupted by the way Danta leans in to murmur in his jeweled ear, the twitch of his fingers at his hip, the graze of his teeth against the soft skin beneath his lobe. His smile feathers, wavers for a fraction as his dark eyes focuses on Maea. The Maverick is right, though, as he usually was, but it doesn’t stop the wild flash of his ashen tipped tail as Maea’s words rebound in his mind.
He opts for not ruining Flora’s night. And so, the butcher reinvigorates that grin on his face with a new flare, a step back that tugs Danta with him as his arm snugly slips around the Theocrat’s middle, where his shadow casts on the Maverick's back begin to warble with movement like it has a mind of its own. “If I recall correctly, it was to be my choice to reach out to you to.. mm, hear your apology, no?” He begins, not giving her a moment to respond (and if she does, he intends to cut her off). “This is neither my choice nor the appropriate time to indulge you just so that you may enjoy the event.” Sharp teeth flash with the dismissal and complete avoidance of acknowledging her apology, twisting instead to utilize his hold on the Maverick and the liquor already burning through his veins to twist them around toward the darker crevices of the party for the moment to cool off lest he truly ruin Flora’s night.
Astaroth
// but your trigger finger's mine //
