so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
“Don’t—” Comes Astaroth’s quiet hum as Danta scrambles to stand, but by the time he finishes the statement, “—be.” The Maverick is already gone. The door left slightly ajar in the rush to leave, the familiar creak of hinges unused in a portion of the backrooms that were probably as dusty as his old room was now. And still, Asta stays behind, letting him do whatever he can because he’s fairly certain if there’s a presence that Danta doesn’t need right now…
Well, it’s him.
So instead, he takes the few moments (and at least three tries) to pull himself up from the floor using the edge of his desk until he can sit in the chair of his office, stealing some of the brandy and the glass Danta had brought down originally, downing a healthy amount of it before curling over to press his face into his hands. Regret burns brightly in him despite how he tries to swallow it down, waiting and hoping that Danta comes back to him at some point or wondering if he should be keeping his distance even more.
He's always prided himself on being monstrous and terrifying, and while usually the thrill was enough of a high to keep him in high spirits, he should have known this time would come. That he would have to face it with the very man he wants to spend all of his time with -- with a distinct understanding that it could be very possible that it grows a rift between him and the Maverick.
He was the monster, the Butcher of Whitebrim with fire and daggers for hands, but.. he realizes he's harboring far too much of the shame of his previous self to even feel an inclination of relief from finally unleashing his whole haunt out in the open after so long of it being buried within.
Well, it’s him.
So instead, he takes the few moments (and at least three tries) to pull himself up from the floor using the edge of his desk until he can sit in the chair of his office, stealing some of the brandy and the glass Danta had brought down originally, downing a healthy amount of it before curling over to press his face into his hands. Regret burns brightly in him despite how he tries to swallow it down, waiting and hoping that Danta comes back to him at some point or wondering if he should be keeping his distance even more.
He's always prided himself on being monstrous and terrifying, and while usually the thrill was enough of a high to keep him in high spirits, he should have known this time would come. That he would have to face it with the very man he wants to spend all of his time with -- with a distinct understanding that it could be very possible that it grows a rift between him and the Maverick.
He was the monster, the Butcher of Whitebrim with fire and daggers for hands, but.. he realizes he's harboring far too much of the shame of his previous self to even feel an inclination of relief from finally unleashing his whole haunt out in the open after so long of it being buried within.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
