// I'm putting you out of your misery //
The brandy is a nice touch and one that Asta doesn’t delve into with him. He wants to be as level headed as he can be, so when he steps up and presses the gentle kiss, doing what he can to ensure that this was on Danta’s terms, the butcher releases him immediately when he steps back. “Alright.” He murmurs softly.
Asta also steps back until his hip hits his desk, taking a deep breath and scans Danta briefly. Without speaking again, the butcher’s form starts to ripple, shadows curling in the dark room, lit only by the oil lamps that the fire dances around them. The shadows warp and curl, encasing the butcher in veils and shawls as his horns grow longer, more forks and tines blooming in the crooked dark obsidian of his head. He grows taller, too, form shifting into the worst of the worst of himself - wreathed in illusion flame that burns the room alight with gold, red, and yellows.
His eyes are pure molten fire, his body taking on a haggard, willowy appearance, skeletal and large in the office space. Fire wraps around the curled knots of his antlers, his face turning into a cross between a deer and a dragon, with multitudes of razor sharp teeth littering the large maw that suddenly glows a hot white from the fire within his core. He looks like each and every portion within him is ablaze, held in only by the dark black of a too long rib cage and warped, melted, scarred skin.
But he doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t lash out. If anything, the monster that stands before his lover is one that’s tame, that lowers his head, clawed daggers for hands flattening against the floor of the office as he takes on as much of an unimposing stance as possible, pale fiery eyes focused wholly on Danta.
Asta also steps back until his hip hits his desk, taking a deep breath and scans Danta briefly. Without speaking again, the butcher’s form starts to ripple, shadows curling in the dark room, lit only by the oil lamps that the fire dances around them. The shadows warp and curl, encasing the butcher in veils and shawls as his horns grow longer, more forks and tines blooming in the crooked dark obsidian of his head. He grows taller, too, form shifting into the worst of the worst of himself - wreathed in illusion flame that burns the room alight with gold, red, and yellows.
His eyes are pure molten fire, his body taking on a haggard, willowy appearance, skeletal and large in the office space. Fire wraps around the curled knots of his antlers, his face turning into a cross between a deer and a dragon, with multitudes of razor sharp teeth littering the large maw that suddenly glows a hot white from the fire within his core. He looks like each and every portion within him is ablaze, held in only by the dark black of a too long rib cage and warped, melted, scarred skin.
But he doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t lash out. If anything, the monster that stands before his lover is one that’s tame, that lowers his head, clawed daggers for hands flattening against the floor of the office as he takes on as much of an unimposing stance as possible, pale fiery eyes focused wholly on Danta.
Astaroth
// 'cause darling you're dragging me down //
