// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
The butcher shrugs a gesture that’s the equivalent of told ya, as he remains slouched, feeling the gentle stroke of Danta’s thumb against his knee. His dark gaze also takes in the crowds from behind the dark shades of his sunglasses, tinted enough to make it almost impossible to see where exactly he’s looking.
He only straightens up a little when the waiter comes, letting the other Ancient order for them both, Asta flashes a small and grateful smile toward him as the server departs. And with Danta breaking the space between them to curl up under his arm, he’s struck for a moment by the ease and comfort it is. He slips it around Danta’s shoulders, long slender fingertips drawing basic designs into the Maverick’s scarred skin as he relaxes again.
It doesn’t have to be you. But who else? “That is true.” He murmurs softly, the concern of whether or not Thalassa and her beautifully brash personality that often pushed others away (or was manipulated by them in a long roundabout way), made him worry over whether or not anyone would want to help.
That’s when the realization hits and the butcher’s horned head tilts over toward Danta, as he reaches up to slip the sunglasses back and nestle it behind his horns on the top of his head. “You would help me?” He asks in a surprisingly soft voice, as if requiring confirmation despite the tone the Maverick had used.
He only straightens up a little when the waiter comes, letting the other Ancient order for them both, Asta flashes a small and grateful smile toward him as the server departs. And with Danta breaking the space between them to curl up under his arm, he’s struck for a moment by the ease and comfort it is. He slips it around Danta’s shoulders, long slender fingertips drawing basic designs into the Maverick’s scarred skin as he relaxes again.
It doesn’t have to be you. But who else? “That is true.” He murmurs softly, the concern of whether or not Thalassa and her beautifully brash personality that often pushed others away (or was manipulated by them in a long roundabout way), made him worry over whether or not anyone would want to help.
That’s when the realization hits and the butcher’s horned head tilts over toward Danta, as he reaches up to slip the sunglasses back and nestle it behind his horns on the top of his head. “You would help me?” He asks in a surprisingly soft voice, as if requiring confirmation despite the tone the Maverick had used.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
